


Discrete

by miraellie



Series: Discrete Saga [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Codependency, F/M, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraellie/pseuds/miraellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is taken back to Asgard and locked away to await punishment for his crimes. But while he's imprisoned, a healer by the name of Sigyn becomes his caretaker, a healer he knows all too well. Despite knowing what's to come Loki allows her close, but something as good as this cannot last long in light of what he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is based on the question "What did the Tesseract show Loki when he touched it?" We never learn what Loki saw when he touched it in Avengers, so this is just playing around with that idea.

    He sees her when he returns to Asgard.  
     
    It’s only a few fleeting moments as Thor and some guards take him to his dungeon cell but she’s there, she truly is, standing by a window, her black hair pulled away from her face, so different from how he’d seen it before where it was long and free for him to run his fingers through and she’s so close all he’d have to do is break away from his brother and the guards and reach for her hand, and her name is on the tip of his tongue but the muzzle cuts into his skin as he tries to open his mouth to speak, to whisper her name, to get her to just _look_ at him--  
     
    But she doesn’t because her gaze is drawn towards an Einherji who takes up all her attention and he’s slowly, clumsily brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and she shifts away from him, doing it herself and saying something Loki can’t hear and he’ll kill this damn Einherji, how _dare_ he, how dare he touch her like that--  
     
    Her focus shifts and finds his gaze and the world stops because _she's looking at him_ and every single vision the Tesseract showed him comes back to him, both of them by the fire and under the night sky and watching two boys laughing as they run through a field of flowers while she holds his hand and leans up to kiss him and--  
     
    And it would be so simple to go up to her, to be the person he should have been, have the life he was meant to have with her with their sons but the time for that is past and he can't catch it again, can't make it happen, happiness is not meant for one such as himself, and this woman in all her brilliance should not be tainted by him, he will not allow it, cannot allow it, it couldn't happen it couldn't--  
     
    Her expression is curious, confused, with the barest hint of concern but it’s not disgusted or hateful or afraid and all that conviction falls away from him and maybe the mortal’s dying words had been right, maybe he does lack conviction, but after everything that trace of concern in her expression makes everything in him crumble and he both loves and hates her for it.  
     
    Before he can do anything, anything at all, Thor pulls him forward roughly and he nearly trips over himself and they turn a corner and--  
     
    And--  
     
    She’s gone.  
     
    Before he can truly comprehend that, that she had been so close and so near to him and now he’s lost her _again_ , Thor shoves him into a small bedchamber and it takes Loki a minute of standing there before it sinks in that he’s not in a dungeon cell, not being locked away into a small room with impenetrable (but not inescapable) walls and left in darkness and this must be Frigga’s kindness, her consideration to him, and he wants to laugh and ask to be taken to a cell and refuse this but with the muzzle in place, he can’t.  
     
    “I will see you in the morning, Loki,” Thor says behind him and he doesn’t bother turning around. “You are to remain here until Father can gather the Court.” He hesitates, as if wanting to say more, wondering if he should say more, and Loki waits until he hears the door shut behind him, leaving him in darkness, just where he belongs, and he’s strangely disappointed at Thor’s refusal to say anything more but he decides it’s better not to think about it, not to think about it at all, but then--  
     
    Then, instead, he thinks of her, of Sigyn, how she was there and how the Einherji who’s stolen her from him dared to touch her and he’s clenching his fists so tightly his nails cut into his palms and then he glances around and there are no vases or mirrors to smash but the bed is delightfully flammable and so Loki does just that with a quick spell and there’s a table there as well so he adds that to the bonfire and the smoke fills the chamber fills his lungs but he doesn’t care he doesn’t care because she’s gone and belongs to another now and--  
     
    And--  
     
    He’s lost everything.  
 

* * *

     
     In Asgard, they lock him up in a small unfamiliar chamber and throw away the keys. He’s not put into his old chambers-- _no longer a prince no longer requires the princely chambers no longer part of the family the family no longer wants him_ \--but instead a quaint little dungeon cell awaits him, though it’s not actually a dungeon, but for all intents and purposes it may as well be, and he thinks he would prefer that, actually, instead of the small rooms they give him instead, and he’s not certain why.  
     
    He wonders what they did to his old chambers after hs untimely death, if they left it as it was, the only things missing the things they took to his funeral, or if they even bothered with that. After all, there was no body to burn, so why trouble themselves with burning a ship in his memory anyway? Or maybe they did burn everything, maybe when it was clear what became of him, they burned everything last bit of his belongings, anything he had ever touched, just to cleanse the evil from themselves and the golden palace and bright, shining Asgard.  
     
    They mustn’t let his darkness taint their perfect Realm Eternal, after all, more than he already has.  
     
    Loki knows, of course, that they likely kept everything as it was and that is why he’s not allowed back into his old rooms. Wouldn’t want him finding some way to undo the spells on him, oh no, this muzzle must stay securely on and he must stay securely imprisoned in these walls that don’t welcome him have never welcomed him will never welcome him again.  
     
    So he amuses himself by sitting and staring out a window most days. He is not allowed out, of course--useless guards stand watch outside his one and only exit, the chamber door, except they’re not so useless he supposes, because he had tried to escape once only to be hit so hard he nearly blacked out and then Thor dragged him back into the chamber and he felt like a stupid little child again, locked into his rooms without supper because he had tripped someone and laughed at them or turned their ale into eels.  
     
    Thor, ever faithful Thor, tries to ask him what happened, why Loki set his room ablaze and forced the crown prince to come and put everything out, but he merely shrugs his brother off and finally Thor gives up, that familiar look on his face--troubled and concerned and angry and saddened and Loki just grins as much as he’s able to under his muzzle because _oh, now you care, Thor? Where was that concern on Midgard,_ he wonders, _where was that concern before any of this ever happened, it is too little too late you damned traitor, save your tears before I_ rip _your eyes out and give you something to truly cry about_ \--  
     
    It seems strangely hilarious to him that Thor is trying so hard to keep him locked away as if his brother is trying to save him, when it was he who threw Loki off the Bifrost to his death in the first place, or--no, that wasn’t right, but the reality is so terrifying too terrifying he can’t accept it he won’t it’s easier to think that Thor threw him off instead of Loki simply letting go simply giving up--     
     
    His mind, Loki finds, is a strange and rather horrifying labyrinth to navigate these days.  
     
    He is left alone with his thoughts in his new room, and sometimes this reality terrifies him, because his own thoughts terrify him now, the pain and the strangeness of them and sometimes, sometimes, a numbness comes over him that is beautiful in its relief that it brings him from his own mind--funny, the thing he always valued most has now turned on him, and he laughs at himself, the sound muffled underneath the metal that covers his mouth and bites into his jaw and he wonders, if it were to be taken off, if it would leave pretty scars to forever remind him of where it was.  
     
    The numbness is welcome, Loki decides, and it comes with increasing frequency. One day he realizes this is because he’s no longer near the Tesseract. It had taken all his emotions--and despite his best efforts, he had always been an emotional creature--and made them worse, stronger, harder to escape or ignore or control. It wasn’t in control of him, not nearly, but it did influence him in some way and now without it, Loki is back to that feeling he had just before he’d let go of Gungnir, after he heard Odin reject everything he’d done--for him, for all of them--that strange numbness that is not numbness of body but of spirit and mind, and Loki welcomes it so much, this break from everything, and Loki clings to it like it’s his last hope for survival and in a way he supposes it is.  
     
    He curls up into the numbness like a blanket, protecting him from everything else, including himself, and he thinks maybe he could live this way, just not feeling anything at all anymore. Or, at least, he can live this way for however longer he has left, which isn’t very long at all he thinks.  
     
    And he’s fine with that.     
 

* * *

     
    Sometimes the muzzle is taken off.  
     
    It’s a necessity, he supposes, because the only time it’s taken off is when a servant brings him his food and he’s forced to eat, forced to keep himself well and full and not waste away to nothing until he’s dust and let that dust be spread into the air and scattered and lost forever. Thor watches him as he eats and he finds it amusing how Thor has suddenly become his caretaker of a sort, amusing and sad and infurating all at once. They share no words during these periods, Loki forcing down the food and drink quickly just to get Thor away from him.  
     
    Thor didn’t use to attend these little meals, but when Loki nearly killed the last servant who tried to put the muzzle back on, well, perhaps he found a need to. Thor brings him his meals, takes off the muzzle, then watches silently as Loki eats, then puts the muzzle back on and takes away his dirty dishes. Loki takes a perverse sort of pleasure in seeing the Mighty Thor be something of a servant to him, bringing him food and taking away his dirty dishes like some common palace worker they used to torment when they were boys.  
     
    He could get used to this, he decides.  
     
    And then, one day, Thor doesn’t appear. Loki doesn’t think much of this, doesn’t even mind the growl in his stomach as the time for the midday meal passes. Perhaps Thor no longer cares and is content to let him starve to death. Loki finds he likes this break in routine, likes that Thor is no longer looming over him with arms crossed over his chest and that look on his face and maybe Loki should cut the skin from his face so he never has to see that look again, that angry concerned saddened tired despairing stern look his older brother has so often these days whenever he looks at Loki.  
     
    It is only when he hears the familiar shifting of the guards outside his room does he come up from his blank state, slowly crawling out of the numbness enough to be aware of his surroundings again, and then he hears the doors open and footsteps come in except--  
     
    Except it’s not right, they don’t sound right, they’re soft and light and small and nothing like Thor’s thunderous stomps that threaten to crack the floor and destroy the room and Loki merely thinks that they’re stupid to send a female servant to him after the last servant nearly died at his hands and he doesn’t bother to turn around to see this one and after a moment of silence, the servant having stopped behind him, waiting for acknowledgement that she’ll never receive, the footsteps pick back up, slower this time, and the servant comes around and he sees a flash of gold and white and-- _oh, anyone but her, not her, not like this, not her not her not her not he_ r--  
     
    “My Prince,” she says softly, so softly, oh Valhalla her voice is exactly as he imagined it would be, soft and warm and beautiful and quiet and she’s here, she’s standing here in front of him, black hair pulled back again into a simple braid that circles the back of her head, her golden and white healer’s dress bright in the sunlight and the room is so warm now and she’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and--  
     
    _I am not your Prince,_ Loki wants to say, wants to scream until his voice is raw, how can she still see him like that when he’s in chains and muzzled like some damn dog and _don’t call me that don’t call me that don’t call me that_ \--  
     
    “Loki,” she says again, firmer this time, and he blinks. Focuses. She meets his gaze steadily, no judgment in her expression. Only kindness. She lifts up a tray, loaded with his usual midday meal of bread, meat, potatoes, apples and water. “I’m sorry this is later than usual. Thor was called away, and... well, we had to find someone who would bring this to you.” She walks over to the table and his gaze momentarily flicks down to her hips, watching how they move underneath her dress, before going back up to her face, though he can’t see it now that she’s turned away from him.  
     
    Her movements are slow, careful, graceful, so different from Thor’s, who had attempted to be quiet in the beginning so as to not startle Loki, and finally gave it up after a while and went around in his usual fashion, slamming the plate down and generally making a fuss.  
     
    “I’m going to be taking care of you from now on,” she says, laying out his meal. “And not only for meals. I’m to be your... companion, of sorts.”  
     
    _No. No no no no no no leave this place gentle one and never come back never look back never think on me again I am going to be your ruin I will not have your blood on my hands either no I do not deserve this I do not deserve you the Tesseract showed me that this could never be should never be not now not after everything_ \--  
     
    Loki focuses. Takes a deep breath through his nose. Then realizes she’s staring at him expectantly. He sees that his meal is ready and his chair is pulled out, and he slowly rises, walks over to her with stiff and aching legs, and does not dare to even brush against her as he sits down. She comes to stand beside him, slightly in front of him, and looks down at the muzzle.  
     
    He stills. Of course. She has to take it off.  
     
    There’s a frown on her face as she considers it, and Loki finds he cannot read her expression past that. What is she thinking? He wants to know, wants her to lean down and whisper all her secrets in his ear, craves to know what goes on in that mind of hers that she would show no fear at all in being in his chambers, alone, and about to do something that had _killed_ nearly killed another servant.  
     
    She lifts her hands to the muzzle, not pausing even once, only slowly bringing them back behind his head and oh, his entire body lights up at the feeling of her fingers going through his hair and behind his neck and he shivers, he actually shivers, his body breaking out in gooseflesh and she doesn’t notice or if she does she makes no indication that she’s noticed and her fingers find the latchings in back and undo them and then--  
     
    Then the muzzle is off and away from his sight, unlike Thor who had always placed it on the table, almost as a sort of reminder for what awaited him at the end of the meal.  
     
    His body is still tingling from her touch.  
     
    He works his jaw a little, getting it used to moving again after so long of being sealed shut. She goes over by the window and stands, hands clasped in front of her, and simply watches him.  
     
    There is something in her gaze, something besides kindness and warmth and love-- _no, not love, not yet, not ever_ \--that makes him stare back at her. He wonders if she’s thinking of the day he saw her in the corridor, outside the healing rooms, in the arms of that Einherji, and how she had calmly met his gaze then as well.  
     
    “You should eat before it gets cold,” she says gently, nodding to his plate, breaking eye contact. “At least the apples and the meat, if nothing else.”  
     
    Loki looks down at his food for a long moment, having forgotten it was there, then looks back up at her.  
     
    “What are you doing here?”  
     
    It takes him a second to realize that that was his voice speaking, his mouth forming the words, his vocal cords dry and cracked and weakened from disuse. It is so faint he wonders if she ever heard it, but she’s looking at him and he realizes yes, she did, and she’s pondering how best to answer him because she’s silent and his heart starts to drop and he realizes maybe she’s exactly like all the others who will tiptoe around him and lie to him and use him and yes that’s it that’s it exactly she’s like the rest she’s not that good pure brilliant beautiful lovely perfect--  
     
    “I offered to come here,” she finally says and he thinks he would have been less surprised if the floor had suddenly fallen out from under him and left him drifting in darkness _darkness without end floating oh no not that again anything but that not that not that_ \-- “Prince Thor feared that he was doing you more harm than good and the Queen wished for someone to take his place more permanently. I offered and they accepted. So here I am.”  
     
    He stares at her. Focuses on how the sunlight shines in her hair. Then says, “Why?”  
     
    She stares back at him, expression unreadable, stance unreadable, why was she so blank to him when he could read people easily or perhaps that had only been with the help of the Mind Gem and briefly, briefly, he wishes for it now, wishes to step inside her mind and look around and figure out how she works and how she even exists but--  
     
    But--  
     
    _No._  
     
    “Because,” she says slowly, “I want to help.”  
     
    _Ah,_ he thinks, _and there it is,_ as he had been expecting and should have realized would come up sooner or later: She had no interest in him except for her own means. She wants to help, only to say that she healed him, to say that she’s the greatest healer in the Nine, greater than even Eir herself, she has no use for him outside of that and he hates her he hates her he hates her so much--  
     
    “And because no one deserves to be left alone like this,” she says, gaze flicking briefly to the muzzle which is somewhere behind him.  
     
    He doesn’t hate her.  
     
    “Eat,” she says sternly, so sternly it takes him aback and he follows her command without realizing, picking up his fork and slowly eating. This lasts only for a few seconds before he speaks again.  
     
    “You came here of your own free will,” he says slowly, his voice low. There has to be a catch here, he thinks. No one is that good. “Because you want to help.”  
     
    “Yes,” she says, so simply, as if it could ever be that simple.  
     
    “You pity me, then,” Loki says, thinking he’s found it at last. She’s a healer, a compassionate and kind woman at least, and how better to prove that than by helping the most pitiable creature in all the Nine Realms? He hates her for it, hates her and her beautiful warm brown eyes and long black hair that he wishes wasn’t tied up.  
     
    “I don’t pity you, no,” she says. “Pity isn’t the same as, say, compassion. The two are different, separate things. To pity something is useless.”  
     
    He stares at her.  
     
    “Eat,” she repeats firmly, and he ignores it this time to simply look at her. She stares back at him expectantly, then that expression fades into something contemplative, curious, her head tilting slightly to the side as she considers him, and he wonders if the skin of her neck is soft and what it would taste like and how it would make her shiver.  
     
    “You never asked for my name,” she says suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.  
     
    “What?”  
     
    “My name,” she says. “You never asked for it.”  
     
    And there, he realizes, he’s made a mistake. She could take it as him just being an uninterested, uncaring former prince or a mannerless villain who would sooner slit her throat than learn her name. But this woman, she’s smart, smarter than perhaps he had given her credit for, smarter than others perhaps give her credit for, and she remembers how he looked at her that day in the corridor, and how he looked at her when she came into his chambers, and she knows that something is not right here, doesn’t quite fit, he knows something about her and she intends to find out what it is and he smiles, dry lips cracking and stretching painfully, and oh, he loves her.  
     
    He doesn’t even pretend to be anything like she expects. He does not say “oh, did you expect me to care about the name of a simple healing wench?” He does not say, “hold your tongue unless you wish it to be removed from your mouth.”  
     
    All he says is, “I need not ask for something I already know.”  
     
    “And how do you already know of it?”  
     
    And there, Loki knows, is where he sinks low, because this is a game, this is him reeling her in with a hint of what he knows, and he knows she won’t be able to resist that, oh no, she’ll want to know everything and he won’t give it to her and so she’ll come back again and again and again and again if only for the chance that he may let slip something, and he is betting on this, because once she has what she wants she’ll leave, leave forever, duty or not, and he will not allow that.  
     
    “I don’t tell my secrets,” Loki says, and she stares at him again. “How do you think I’ve come across it?”  
     
    “I don’t know,” she says, her tone slightly wry. “If I knew, I would not have asked.”  
     
    He chuckles at that a little, the sound off, awkward. He hasn’t laughed in so long. “Then you can survive without knowing for a bit longer,” he says, meeting her gaze directly, “Sigyn.”  
     
    The name tastes like honey on his tongue, sweet--no, not honey, that is too sweet, it is something softer with more subtlety that one must keep on their tongues for a while in order to taste everything, because underneath the first flavour is something hidden, something bold and strong and he is _doomed_ , so utterly doomed and all he can do is laugh about it, about this woman who has captured him so firmly without even trying, not realizing what they could have had, what they will never have, and he wants to curse and laugh and scream and cry and he should hate that she does this to him but he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn’t hate her. He could never.  
     
    Sigyn frowns, then shrugs and leans against the wall. “Keep your secrets, then,” she says, and he smiles to himself because _he has her_ , she is his and he is hers and he will keep this game going for as long as he wants her near.  
     
    They are both utterly doomed, he thinks, and he will do nothing to stop it, because he is nothing if not completely selfish, and these moments with her are worth the horror that will follow later, the horror he will lead her to, the darkness he will taint her with, and he cares not.  
     
    “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sigyn.”  
     
    “A pleasure, Loki.”  
     
    When he is done with his meal, she walks past him, and briefly the smell of the healing rooms overwhelms him--herbs for potions the stench of the things they use to clean the rooms and maybe just underneath that a hint of blood and it doesn’t fit her not at all and then--  
     
    Then she brings the muzzle out and any thoughts of her scent vanish from his mind. She looks at it, then meets his gaze, and after a beat she comes forward and lifts it to his face.  
     
    “Orders,” she says simply, regretfully, and he keeps his gaze on her face as those fingers of hers go through his hair and onto his neck, touching his spine and skin and she’s so warm and then--  
     
    And then--  
     
    The muzzle firmly in place, Sigyn hesitates before shaking herself and picking the empty plate and glass up. “I’ll return soon,” she says quietly, and he wonders what the point of that is, because it is not as if they’ll be able to speak to each other now.  
     
    But he lets her go. He watches her as she leaves.  
     
    And, true to her word, she returns to him a short time later with a stack of books.  
     
    And he loves her.     
 

* * *

     
    She returns the next day as the morning sun shines into his room and he hasn’t bothered getting out of bed yet, there’s not much point, all he can do is lie in bed or sit in the chair and stare out the window, and today the window holds no fancy for him, he finds he dreads looking out of it, looking at the freedom he should have and won’t have for a very long time, maybe never again, and he blinks when she comes to stand over him, hands on her hips, looking very hilariously like a mother about to scold her misbehaving child.  
     
    “Get up,” she says, and if it weren’t for the muzzle, he’d respond with, “Come here,” instead and pull her down onto the bed with him. As it is, he only raises an eyebrow at her before sitting up. He’s not entirely certain he actually slept at all during the night--maybe he only laid there and stared up at the ceiling, or maybe he fell into a dreamless sleep that was easy to forget, who knows. His body feels fatigued as he stands, but that’s no sure sign of anything. He often feels tired and numb these days, a weariness that seeps into his very bones that he’s learned to ignore.  
     
    He goes to sit in his usual chair and he notices that she’s brought quite a few other things with her this morning. His usual morning meal sits before him, but so does a knife that is not meant to cut his burned bread and spread butter on it, a few phials of something, and a new chair at the side of the table. She takes off his muzzle and throws it aside carelessly, and he can’t help smirking at that, and he watches as she sits down in the new chair and begins eating off her own plate.  
     
    She catches him staring after a moment and jabs her fork in the direction of his food. “Eat,” Sigyn says, and Loki slowly follows her command. His gaze flickers between the things she’s brought with her, vaguely thinking it’s brave and trusting of her to put something as dangerous as a knife within his reach, and he wonders absently if the phials are poison, but that was silly, though maybe not, maybe he should reach for one and open it and sniff it to make certain--  
     
    She brought a knife. To the table. And set it down in front of him.  
     
    Loki glances at her then, this healer, this woman, who’s staring absently out the window, her gaze distant and her thoughts elsewhere, and something about this doesn’t fit, isn’t right, _what is it_ what is it what is he not seeing and then he realizes she doesn’t think him a threat.  
     
    He is unthreatening towards her. He is like a puppy, who can occasionally bite hard but it only stings and is otherwise cute and fluffy and useless, and this is not a show of trust because who would ever be foolish enough to trust him, not her, certainly not her not ever not if she was smart and she was smart, she was intelligent, and something about this still didn’t fit and didn’t she know he could simply reach over now and take it and hurt her with it and--  
     
    And--  
     
    No. No, he would not, could not. Not against this woman. Loki focuses, gaze falling to his plate, and he begins to eat again. The realization that he would not harm Sigyn unnerves him in more ways than one, and he’s not certain how to process it at first. Why wouldn’t he, he wonders. Because she is beautiful? Because he knows what could have become of them one day, if he had not made the choices that he had? Does he feel some sort of misplaced sentiment for her? He was done with all that, that sentiment, that useless thing.  
     
    Loki ponders the knife and ponders the healer next to him and realizes she fascinates him completely.  
     
    “It’s for your hair.”  
     
    He looks at her. Takes a second. Then he says, “What?”  
     
    “The knife,” Sigyn says, finishing the rest of her water. “I’m going to use it to cut your hair. You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”  
     
    Loki stares blankly at her. Had he been so obvious in his thoughts, he wonders, that even she could read him and answer a question he’d been thinking but not voicing?  
     
    “So,” Sigyn continues, standing from her chair and picking up her plate. “Today we’re going to fix a few things.”  
     
    “My hair,” Loki repeats flatly. Absently he runs a hand through it and frowns when he feels the slickness of grease and dirt in it, and notes how much longer it’s gotten since he had returned to Asgard. “I see.”  
     
    She nods, then motions to his plate for him to finish off his meal. He does, and she leaves, and she leaves the knife right there in front of him, and all he can do is stare at it for a long moment. He still does not reach for it, and before he can contemplate even doing so and what he’d do with it once he had it in his hands, Sigyn returns, books in her arms again.  
     
    She sets the books down and he drifts off again, gaze pulled towards the window despite himself. There’s nothing but the cosmos laid out before him and he’s stuck here, in this tiny bloody room with a woman he should have never seen or be with, waiting for--for what, exactly? Odin’s judgment. His death, most likely.  
     
    Would Odin be that cruel? Yes, Loki thinks, he would, without a doubt, this was the man who waged war on countless realms and won and then found a baby in a temple and took it for himself and changed it from monster to god except not completely, never completely, there was always something of the wicked lurking behind that mask and in his mind and now it is out for all to see, this monster he is, only they think of him as an insane powerhungry tyrant instead of what he truly is, or perhaps Odin has laid all his shames bare for everyone to see, everyone to know, everyone to whisper about and shake their heads and sigh, “I always knew there was something wrong with that one. So unlike his brother. It makes sense now; he’s one of _them_.”  
     
    “Come on,” Sigyn says, breaking into his thoughts. He stares at her and notices her wiping her hands off on a cloth, and he wonders what she’d done to get her hands wet. Then he realizes what she wants him to get up for, and Loki stares at her, not entirely certain he wants to go along with this--who cares what he looks like? Certainly not he, not anymore, he used to but now that’s all sort of vanished from his mind, why should he care what he looks like when now it’s only a cover for what lays beneath, behind the mask Odin put on him as a baby, and he wonders if she knows what he truly is and if she did would she still bother with him no of course not because who would ever bother themselves with him?  
     
    “My prince,” Sigyn says, waiting, expectant. “Please get up.”  
     
    He doesn’t. He sits back instead, stares at her, wonders what she’ll do, will she force him?  
     
    Sigyn crosses her arms over her chest and sets her jaw and he thinks maybe this hadn’t been his best idea. “My prince, I’m certain you’ve been preoccupied with other things lately so you likely haven’t noticed how you and this room smell. I ignored it yesterday, but if I’m to continue working here with you, I require fresh air to breathe so that I don’t suffocate.”  
     
    He blinks at her. He smelled? Is that what she just told him? Loki’s torn between laughing and cursing; she was brave to speak to him in such a way.  
     
    “Now,” she says, pointing to a part of the room he hadn’t bothered using, where a simple bathtub lays. “Bath.”  
     
    He licks his teeth underneath his lips and stares at the bathtub and decides she’d likely just throw a bucket of water on him if he refuses, so he stands and makes his way over to the tub. She’s run the water already--now he knows why her hands were wet--and she opens one of the phials she’d had on the table earlier and pours the contents into the water.  
     
    She checks the temperature, nods to herself, then turns to look at him, blinking. “Do you intend to bathe in your numerous clothes, my Prince?”  
     
    “Do you expect me to undress in front of you?” he asks, then grins. “Or would you like me to?” She doesn’t blush, much to his disappointment, so he tries again. “Or perhaps you’d like to undress me yourself? That is technically part of your occupation, isn’t it?”  
     
    She looks at him, her expression unreadable, then she moves forward and slides her hand underneath the collar of his coat and begins sliding it off and it takes his mind a moment to catch up to what’s happening, exactly, and he grabs her wrist and holds it tightly and stares down at her as she looks up to meet his gaze. She’s not much shorter than him, he notices, just the right height so that if he leaned down to kiss her it wouldn’t pain his neck or shoulders. Her brown eyes are warm and gentle but, as he looks closer, there’s something strong hidden in them, something immovable, something unyielding.  
     
    He remembers what he stopped her from doing and finds his voice. Love is for children, as the flame haired spider had put so eloquently. And he does not love her, does not want her, she is simply a stupid, foolish woman who has willingly walked into this den where she will most certainly be ruined, all because of him, by him.  
     
    “I do not require your assistance,” he hisses. She pulls her wrist out of his hand and steps back one step, still meeting his gaze, unflinching.  
     
    “Then don’t be difficult,” she says, and after a moment, she turns and leaves him to his own devices. Her back facing him, Loki watches her spread out the books on the table and then he turns around, undressing and stepping into the water. It’s boiling hot, which makes him cringe, and he can feel the oils she’s put into it. He lets his body become accustomed to the heat, laying down slowly, and surprises himself by finding it... pleasant. Muscles he hadn’t even been aware were stiff slowly relax and Loki lets his head fall back until it rests on the cushioned edge. He closes his eyes, resisting the urge to let his mind wander--always a mistake, that--and instead focuses on the sounds coming from Sigyn.  
     
    She’s moving things around, straightening up it sounded like, and getting things ready for when he was out of the bath. She moves quietly, gracefully, and he opens his eyes to watch her. She lays out clean clothes for him, simple tunic and breeches, then sets out vases of strong smelling herbs. The scent of some wild Asgardian flowers begins to fill the room, making him cringe.  
     
    “Are you trying to suffocate _me_ now?”  
     
    Sigyn glances at him slyly and he’s surprised to see a smile pulling the corners of her lips up. “If I were to suffocate someone, I think I’d try better methods, hm?”  
     
    He glances at the pillows on his bed and she follows his glance, then that smile that was playing at the corners of her mouth fades and her blank frown is back as she glances at him, then returns to her work.  
     
    “The scent of Asgardian wildflowers would be a kind way to suffocate someone.”  
     
    “Better than the overwhelming stench of sweat and body odor,” she shoots back. He glances away, realizing how long it’d been since he’d taken a bath. The Chitauri had not exactly been accommodating in that manner. He scratches his jaw, surprised by the amount of scruff he feels there, and realizes it has been a while since he’d taken a look at himself.  
     
    Well, what was the point? He was going to die soon, if Odin judged that to be proper and he most certainly would. Why bother prettying himself up when he’d be run through and left to bleed out onto the golden floors of Asgard soon?  
     
    “You’re just being sensitive,” Loki says, staring up at the ceiling, and there’s a pause from Sigyn before he hears her turn around.  
     
    “Sensitive,” she repeats. “Sensitive. Like a woman?”  
     
    He shrugs, letting her take her own meaning from it, and then she’s beside him and glaring down at him, a hand on her hip.  
     
    “This _woman_ regularly comes in contact with wounds that would make even the hardest of hearts and senses and stomachs faint,” she says heatedly, her voice almost as hot as the temperature of the water. “I have put intestines back into the middles of men and I have sawed off their limbs when they could not be saved, often with the men awake during such a thing. I have wandered through battlefields to find the barely living and breathe life back into them, and mourned them when I could not. I have done this all without hesitation or weakness. I am not sensitive, Loki, and if you think me to be then you’re a fool.”  
     
    She turns on her heel and stomps off and he almost laughs, it’s so strange hearing her feet hit the floor so heavily. Yes, he decides, he had been a fool. She was no mere noblegirl who batted her eyelashes at the warriors and hoped to become a bride and wife to one, mother to more. Sigyn was a healer and those who thought her weak or meek were wrong.  
     
    He loves her.  
     
    Sigyn comes back with a bucket and before he can protest, she’s pouring water over his head and shoulders, wetting his hair. “I could do that myself,” he says, moving back the curtain of soaking hair that covers his face now.  
     
    She stops, glancing at him, then looks away to her feet. “My apologies,” she says, and her tone isn’t as cold as he would have expected. He looks at her, then shrugs.  
     
    “Go on, then, if this is part of your duty,” he says, and the word tastes bitter in his mouth, a reminder that she’s only here for herself.  
     
    “If you’re able to bathe yourself, I won’t interfere,” Sigyn says, moving away, and it takes everything in him to keep from reaching out and taking her hand in his own.  
     
    Loki clenches his fists underneath the water and then sets about taking care of himself, washing away years worth of grime and sweat and dirt and evil and darkness and pain and agony and he wishes it were that simple, he really does, to just be able to go into a tub of water and come out with everything washed away.  
     
    It was never that simple.  
     
    He emerges some time later and Sigyn looks away as he dries himself off and dresses in the clothes she laid out for him. Only when the breeches are securely on does she turn around, knife in hand, and his heart races and his muscles tense despite himself.  
     
    _She’s not going to stab you._  
     
    He goes over and sits down and she moves behind him, running her fingers through his still damp hair and he closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of her touch, wishing it would run down his back his spine and send those wonderful shivers all over his body again. Her hands stay where they are, however, and soon he hears the sound of her cutting through his hair, which almost reaches his shoulder blades by now, and he lets her, he lets this woman hold a knife so close to his throat, and he can’t tell if he doesn’t think her a threat or if he knows she would never hurt him.  
     
    He thinks of the Tesseract and the visions it showed him and he realizes it’s very much the latter.  
     
    A while later, Sigyn comes around to stand in front of him, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes him want to do the same, just a little nibble. “It’s not perfect,” she admits, and he looks in a mirror she brought along. It’s no longer greasy or dirty, he notes, and it’s back to the length he had it before everything happened. A few shorter pieces were still visible and absently he runs his hand through his hair, attempting to smooth them down.  
     
    “They’ll grow out,” Sigyn offers, and it seems as if she’s waiting for some kind of blow, and then he realizes she’s waiting for his reaction.  
     
    Over so simple a thing.  
     
    “It’s fine,” he says, at a loss as to what else to say. She smiles, just a small one, but it lights up her eyes in a way he finds fascinating and wants to cause again.  
     
    “I’ll let you shave yourself,” she says, then hesitates. “Though I’ll be watching.”  
     
    He nods, not expecting anything else--though does Odin truly think Loki will kill himself before the trial, before he gets a chance to?--and begins taking care of that.  
     
    Soon, he almost looks like his old self, save for the dark circles under his eyes and his hollow cheekbones--which, admittedly, are filling out due to all the food they’re giving him--and the slight expression in his eyes which tells of the _not quite here-ness_ in his head.  
     
    Loki puts the mirror down, no longer wanting to examine himself.  
     
    Sigyn takes the knife and begins cleaning up, and Loki’s gaze drifts to the window while she works. The cosmos continues on as it always has, the stars and far off galaxies and planets and realms shining, their lights dim compared to the glow of Asgard. And beyond that, he knows, lies a darkness so deep and dense that not even Asgard could shine for very long inside of it, the golden light muted and swallowed up and eventually killed, all under the gaze and hand of--  
     
    Loki jerks in his chair and tears his gaze away from the cosmos. He must ask Sigyn to bring something to block the windows out, sometime.  
     
    “Loki?”  
     
    He focuses on her, noticing the crease of worry in between her brow. It’s the only sign she feels something is wrong, but it tells him everything. “Yes?”  
     
    “Are you well? You seemed lost in thought.”  
     
    He resists the urge to snort or smirk. She has not yet seen him lost in thought. Or perhaps these days he’s always lost in his thoughts--he’ll readily admit at times it’s harder to focus on things than it used to be. He imagines that, now, if he tries to read a book, it would take him several minutes and rereading of passages to actually see them and process them and _know_ them.  
     
    Perhaps a part of him has always been this way. Everyone always knew there was something twisted in him, anyway.  
     
    “I was,” Loki admits. “Waiting for a trial and the Court to condemn me to death does tend to leave one’s mind wandering.”  
     
    Sigyn frowns, and he can’t tell if it’s because of what he said, how he said it, if it didn’t make any sense. The bath has lulled him into relaxation and, with that, very little energy to care. She glances down to the tray she’s holding, as if considering what to tell him, and for once she’s rather easy to read. Then her expression closes off, much to his annoyance, and it’s back to as she was.  
     
    “Yes,” she says quietly, “I suppose it would.” Something in her tone makes him think she realizes that’s not quite all the reason his mind wanders. She is perceptive, perhaps more perceptive than he, and briefly he wonders what else she sees about him, this beautiful wonderful intelligent warm woman. “I need to take these things back,” she says, motioning to the tray. “I’ll return in a while. Do you want anything?”  
     
    _You_ , he wants to say. Instead he looks away to the books scattered on the table. “The keys to my dungeon would not be unwelcome.”  
     
    “You have need of keys to escape?” Sigyn asks, and it cuts him to the core, that she knows him so well and yet he’s told her almost nothing of himself. There’s a teasing hint to her tone, a quiet laugh in her voice, and he wonders that she’s so comfortable with him as to start joking with him.  
     
    “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Loki says. And it’s not even that; of course he doesn’t have need of keys to escape a dungeon, his prison cell. He could do that without even expending much effort.  
     
    What he lacks, Loki finds, is the will. Because death--even a slow, torturous, agonizing one and he does not doubt that the Allfather will make it slow--would be a far preferable fate than the one that awaits him if _he_ happens to come across Loki again.  
     
    The merest thought of what _he_ would do sends a cold shiver of horror down Loki’s spine, despite the heavy heat that rests in his limbs from his bath. Yes, he decides, he will take death over whatever _he_ will hand him, because as slow as his death by the Allfather’s hand will be--  
     
    It will be nothing compared to what Thanos would do to him. Of that, Loki is certain.  
     
    “Loki.”  
     
    He focuses on Sigyn again, escaping the darkness and horror of his mind once again thanks to her voice. “Yes?”  
     
    “How did you know my name?”  
     
    _Ah, and so it comes to this again._ Her curiousity is still brimming, the need to know how he knew of her, knew her name when they hadn’t ever met, and Loki will draw this curiousity out as much as he can.  
     
    He smirks and leans back in his chair. “I don’t give up my secrets so easily.”  
     
    “You have far better and more important secrets to keep, I imagine,” Sigyn says. “Unless, of course, the manner in which you learned my name is important. Something you don’t want to speak about, or can’t speak about, in which case I’m afraid I find my curiousity all the more piqued.”  
     
    He should hate this, Loki realizes, how easily she sees through him, he should hate her and how she can look past his tricks and see the truth behind them. But he still will not tell her. She will not escape him that easily.  
     
    “Perhaps,” he says mildly. “Or I simply heard it being spoken by one of the other healers, long ago, and remembered it.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him and he stares back and there’s a tense silence that shouldn’t really be tense, and he wonders if he’s made another mistake somewhere--she throws him off kilter, this Sigyn, in way no one else has, not even the flame haired spider who thought she’d tricked him and made him reveal all his plans like some stupid, overly arrogant villain, when really he had let her think she won and unleashed the monster.  
     
    But Sigyn, she throws him off balance, she is of a chaotic nature herself despite the calm she brings him, nothing she does is expected or at least he does not expect it and he cannot quite seem to figure her out, not yet, maybe he doesn’t want to and can’t and never will and it terrifies Loki that he’s okay with this.  
     
    He maybe even loves it a little.  
     
    “Then that would imply that I was worth remembering for some reason,” Sigyn says, and something about this irritates Loki and he’s not sure what. “So we’re back to where we started. There’s a reason you knew my name, and I would like to know what it is.”  
     
    Loki bites back a scoff. “I always remember things I hear whispered between two people, or things I overhear when others don’t realize I’m standing nearby in the shadows, listening to everything they say. How do you think I learn the secrets of others? Not because they tell me, surely, but because they spill them without knowing someone else is there to pick them up and store away for later use.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him for a long moment before blinking and straightening. “Perhaps it really is that simple. You overheard Eir or someone else calling for me, and now you’re making up a story to make it seem far more grand than it actually is.”  
     
    “Do you believe that, my lady?”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says simply, with a shrug. “And please, there’s no need to call me by titles. I have none.”  
     
    “And so, my lady, we’re back to where we began,” Loki says. “You wish to know and I will not tell you.”  
     
    “And not simply because you enjoy being difficult,” Sigyn says, peering at him, and Loki could kiss her right now, she’s so brilliant and yet not, because she’s falling right into his game, playing right along as he expected her to. Her curiousity and need to know will grow, and he will feed that need, nurture it, make sure it never goes away so then neither will she.  
     
    “You’re a foolish girl if you think I would give everything away so easily.”  
     
    She visibly bristles and he feels a short burst of pride at having finally gotten a reaction out of her, before she calms herself down. “I didn’t expect it,” she says, and from her tone he can tell she means it. “And I think you’ll find I’m quite grown, so do not call me a girl again.” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves, and when the door closes Loki surprises himself by laughing.  
     
    At least he was having some measure of fun before he died.     
 

* * *

     
    They develop a sort of routine over the next few days, her coming in the morning and staying until midday and leaving and returning and then she must leave for the afternoon and she returns in the evening, taking the muzzle off each time she brings him something to eat. He does not move as she takes it off, only breathes her in, clenches his fists, and then eats his meals. He does not harm her. He doesn’t touch her at all.  
     
    She brings him books to read and sneaks in food other than the usual things he’s given, after a while. She’s careful not to bring him any magic books, he notices--distrusting of him, he wonders, or unable to sneak them in unlike the little delicacies she brings him? Who knows. He certainly doesn’t.  
     
    She leaves him shortly after the evening meal each night and doesn’t return until morning, and he finds himself missing her during the night, wishing she would stay, wishing he could press her into the bed and hear her sigh his name and see that black hair of hers spread out amongst the pillows, but he doesn’t, she doesn’t stay, it’ll never happen, should never happen, but he can dream--and he dreams of it often.  
     
    And every day, at some point, she asks him, “How did you know my name?”  
     
    And every day, he smirks at her and maybe shrugs and says, “That is for me to know.”  
     
    It irritates her, he can see that, but she hides it well beneath her calm and businesslike expression. But she lets it drop, unlike the little debate they had the first time she asked him, and he successfully manages to resist the urge to bring it up again and again, just to see if he can tease her, irritate her, make a nice little flush rise up into her cheeks. Best not to use all his cards all at once, Loki thinks, and keep this going for as long as possible.  
     
    As the days go by, he doesn’t immediately notice that she leaves the muzzle off for longer and longer each day. She still puts it back on in the evenings, when she has to leave, her touch as gentle as always, still sending that shiver right down his spine. But after the morning meals, Sigyn no longer puts it on at all, instead hides it away and doesn’t bring it out until she leaves for the midday meal--for it’s true, she’s taken to staying with him all morning, and he finds himself enjoying every second of her presence, greedily wanting more, wanting it to be more than just a healer attending to her patient.  
     
    He’s always wanted more than he had, and now is no different.  
     
    And then suddenly, without reason, he _notices_. He notices how she takes it off, how she hides it, and how she resolutely does not go looking for it again once he’s done eating. His silvertongue is free to do as it will, and he wonders what she’s saying with this gesture. That she trusts him? Possibly. That she wants to talk more with him? Unlikely, given the general peaceful silence of their time spent together in the mornings. He feels like she’s waiting for something, some major breakthrough that he’s simply not giving her because he doesn’t know what it is she wants.  
     
    She is frustratingly confusing and Loki loves it.  
     
    One day, he decides to bring up her lack of following the rules to perfection. He watches as she sets the muzzle away and leans back in his chair, his breakfast sitting comfortably in his stomach, his mood strangely content at how... simple this all is. Him, her, eating breakfast together and sharing in an easy if unsatisfying silence. He’s grown used to it, he realizes with a shock, and a part of him wonders how long it’ll be until this too is taken from him.  
     
    “So why is the healer suddenly disobeying her orders?”  
     
    Sigyn glances up at him in surprise, her hands hovering over the plates she had begun to clean up. “I beg pardon?”  
     
    He smirks and meets her gaze, lacing his fingers together and setting them in his lap. “I highly doubt you were given permission to leave off the muzzle after our morning meals.”  
     
    She stares at him for a moment before returning to her work. “I wasn’t,” she says simply, and Loki wonders that he expected her to lie about it. “I simply find little use in muzzling you like a common dog.”  
     
    That wasn’t quite the answer he was wanting or hoping for, and Loki finds himself disappointed for a reason he can’t put his finger on. What had he wanted her to say? That she kept it off so they could talk, when they obviously didn’t all that much? That she wanted him to talk to her or--Norns forbid--kiss her, whisper in her ear and make her arch against him and--  
     
    Loki pulls his thoughts back to the present, away from the dreams he has about her.  
     
    “Do you intend to tell on me?” Sigyn asks, staring at him. “Or are you saying you want it back on?”  
     
    “No,” Loki answers, too quickly. She nods and then picks up the trays and hands them out to a guard behind the door before closing it firmly.  
     
    “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Sigyn says, and he stares at her before smiling a bit and oh, she’s perfect.  
     
    “If this is to earn my good graces so I’ll tell you what you want to know, it won’t work.” His words are heavy but his tone is light, and he hopes she understands his intent behind them--a light teasing, nothing more.  
     
    “I don’t beg for good graces,” Sigyn says, coming back over and sitting at the table. “And I won’t try to earn that information. You’ll either give it to me or you won’t. What I do will little affect that.”  
     
    Loki leans forward, towards her, and she watches him nonchalantly. “But the curiousity must be overwhelming now,” he says, because she’s just like him in this, in that insatiable need for knowledge and the eternal fascination things hold for them both and it’s never enough, nothing can satisfy their curiousity, only calm it for a while. “How did one such as myself get that knowledge when we’ve never met, never spoken to each other, never saw each other before recently?”  
     
    Sigyn gives him a dry look and leans in, resting her arms on the table. “Perhaps it was a lucky guess on your part.”  
     
    Loki laughs quietly and doesn’t move away from her. “Or perhaps I found it through nefarious means and I intend to do ill with it.”  
     
    Her gaze pierces him, brown eyes studying his face intently. Her expression is unreadable as ever, but there’s a hint of something there, something in those warm eyes that makes his grin widen. “And whatever could you do with a healer such as myself?”  
     
    “All sorts of things,” Loki says, his voice low, and he swears he sees a shiver run through her body at that.  
     
    Sigyn’s silent before pulling away and straightening, smoothing out her golden skirt. “I don’t think you will.”  
     
    “Oh?”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says, and her voice is quiet but perfectly clear, each word said with clarity. “Perhaps I’ll be proven wrong one day, but for now, I don’t think you will.”  
     
    Irritation flares up in him for a brief moment because how can she think of him like that, like some good man who won’t use her all too willingly given trust for his own means? For is that not who he is, what he is, a monster who uses others for his own gains and then casts them aside or kills them? Can she not see just how dangerous a game she’s playing, trusting him and being friendly to him and assuming they’re on good terms when it could all so easily be a front on his end, intending to lure her in until she can no longer escape and then--  
     
    And then--  
     
    Then, with a shock, Loki realizes she does know this. She’s not stupid. She’s not naive. She’s careful and he realizes that Sigyn’s completely aware of the fact that he could be playing her, that her trust and friendship isn’t some hope on her part that there’s some goodness left in him to reach if only someone could show him some kindness.  
     
    She knows he could be using her and she shows kindness anyway. Loki can’t decide if that makes her the stupidest person in the Nine or the most amazing woman he’s ever met. And he realizes, with a sickness in his gut that rises to his throat and makes him swallow thickly, that if he hadn’t known her--known what they could have had together, if he didn’t desperately wish for that now, if he wasn’t chasing after some vague hope that it could still happen--he would do just that.  
     
    He would use her and then cast her aside and he would feel no remorse about it whatsoever. He is not a kind man, never was, certainly isn’t now, and even if he had noticed her intelligence beauty bravery kindness loyalty in the beginning, he would have used it to his own ends and never given her a second thought.  
     
    What else could ever be expected of him, after all, except to be the villain, the monster, the one who ensnares the innocent naive kind compassionate loving girl and utterly ruins her because he holds no love for anything, no one, nothing at all except perhaps himself but that’s not true either, Loki holds no love for himself at all, especially not when the knowledge of what hides underneath his pale skin and green eyes haunts his nightmares.  
     
    Loki blinks, then pushes those thoughts away and focuses on her again, looking right into her eyes.  
     
    “And what do you hope to gain out of all of this, my lady?” Loki asks quietly. “Besides the knowledge of how I knew your name. Would you still have volunteered to be a companion to the traitor of Asgard, the murderer, the tyrant, had I not glanced at you that day in the corridor and met your gaze?”  
     
    “Yes,” Sigyn says evenly, no hesitation but also no rush to say it. It’s the truth. “I would have.”  
     
    “And why is that?”  
     
    “Because it’s my job, to help those who need me. Because it’s what I do, occupation or not. As for what I hope to gain...” she shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “Just as you keep your secrets, I will keep mine.”  
     
    He laughs. He can’t help it, can’t stop it, doesn’t even realize he’s going to until it happens. She’s returning his play of keeping secrets by doing the same thing, knowing it would hook him in, knowing it would make her impossible to resist.  
     
    “And shall these secrets ever be revealed one day?”  
     
    Sigyn meets his gaze sharply. “That, Loki, is up to you.”  
     
    He simply smirks and glances down to her lips and thinks, _I could kiss her right now_ , but he doesn’t, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything except meet her gaze until he finally glances away.  
     
    “You are a confusing woman,” he says, and his tone hints at admiration and--no, not love, he can’t hint at that, not yet, because it can never happen. Never.  
     
    “And you are a man of mysteries,” Sigyn says, and there’s something about it that makes Loki think she’s already figured out most of the mysteries, and the ones she hasn’t yet, she purposefully hasn’t tried to figure out, just to leave something to be fascinated by, and he should hate her and how easily she sees past him, but the only thing he can feel for her is love and admiration that, finally, there’s someone worthy of his attention.  
     
    “So we’re to remain confounded by each other,” Loki says, taking a sip of his water, suddenly realizing how cracked and dry his lips are.  
     
    “I never said I was confounded by you,” Sigyn says lightly. “Merely that you enjoy being mysterious,” she pauses then, tilting her head to the side as she considers him. “No, not quite. You simply shut others out so effectively that it appears you’re mysterious.”  
     
    He stands up, suddenly, setting his water down and moving away from her to the windows. He hasn’t glanced out of them in a while, not caring for the taste of freedom it gives him but the feast he’s denied, and the thought that somewhere out there far outside of the Nine, a being who courts death is looking for him, lying in wait, and the thought sends a shudder down his spine.  
     
    He senses her come up behind him and, after a moment, she joins him at the window. “I’m sorry. I overstepped my boundaries.” Her voice is quiet, apologetic, but... held back. And he’s suddenly so very tired of this constant back and forth, how they begin to tease each other and almost get along, only for something to go wrong somewhere and causes the tension to return.  
     
    Loki turns to look at her, then decides he doesn’t like his back being to the window and moves away, holding her gaze as he does so. “It’s fine. By the same logic, I also overstepped my boundaries.”  
     
    “One could argue there are none for you,” Sigyn says, watching him. “You’re still a prince, after all.”  
     
    He laughs bitterly at that, turns away from her. “Is that what they say, out there?” he asks, motioning to the door. “Does the Allfather still call me his son? Does the Queen still consider me family in her heart? Does Thor think me a brother still, after everything?”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him, then glances down to the floor. “I wouldn’t presume to say what they think,” she says politely. “But given how they mourned for your death and how Thor came to take care of you, I would say yes.”  
     
    He laughs quietly at her pretend at propriety and how she followed it up with saying what she thought. “Perhaps you saw wrong, then.”  
     
    “I don’t think so.”  
     
    Loki falls silent, still turned away from her, a tension between his shoulders, hands clenching into fists. _And where was that concern, I wonder, when Thor found me on Midgard? When he acted as if he cared more about the whereabouts of the Tesseract than seeing me for the first time in years a year no it was only a year but not for me not in that dark realm_ \--  
     
    Loki turns to look at Sigyn, focusing on her, and keeps his expression as blank as he’s able. “What did the Allfather tell the people of Asgard when I died?”  
     
    Sigyn seems taken aback by this question, blinking in surprise, then frowning. “He said you died protecting Asgard from the Jotnar, alongside your brother who had returned. You couldn’t close the Bifrost because of what they’d done to Heimdall, so Thor was forced to destroy the Bridge, and...” she trails off, expecting him to know the rest, but then he’s laughing because oh, Odin had tried to protect his honour, preserve it, and didn’t wish to cast him as the villain this time, how sweet, how sickeningly sweet of the man he once called father. “Loki?”  
     
    He tries to stop his laughter but it’s difficult, the idea so absurd to him, the fact that while he was drifting in space, unfortunately quite alive but not very well, Odin had still tried to prove himself a father to him and had cast his death in a good light and he wonders if Odin expects that to endear him to Loki now, after everything, because if he is then he is sorely mistaken.  
     
    “It’s nothing,” Loki says, managing to calm his laughter a tad. “Nothing at all, my dear.”  
     
    Sigyn pauses and he realizes what he called her but he can’t be bothered to apologize for it, instead waits to see how she’ll react to it. She stares at him for a long moment before straightening and inclining her head. “As you say,” she says, then goes over to the table where a stack of books waits. “Why don’t you come and read, hm?”  
     
    Loki hesitates before going over, disappointment washing over him that she chose not to acknowledge his slip at all. He’s staring at the titles of the books without really taking them in when Sigyn says, her voice quiet, “They all still love you, you know. Very much.”  
     
    His hand trembles as he reaches for one book, and his fingers brush against Sigyn’s briefly. She doesn’t pull away but he knows, by the slight stiffening of her shoulders, that she felt it. “Do they, now?”  
     
    “Yes,” Sigyn says, her gaze down at his hand. “They’re your family.”  
     
    What a peculiar way his family had of showing their love, then. Odin, who had never seemed interested in his youngest son’s magical ability or scholarly pursuits, who seemed to prefer the golden child over the dark one, who watched as Thor threw him in the abyss as he let go because _no, Loki_ because death was far more preferable to anything else was the only outcome he wanted then.  
     
    Frigga, who had always given him her utter love and adoration and who he’d always thought favoured him over Thor, but had still allowed Odin to lie to him about everything, everything, and knew the entire time and--and truly, he can’t work up that much hate for her, because despite everything she still loved him as her own but she still allowed the lie to continue but he can’t hate her. Not her. Not his mother. But that doesn’t mean he forgives her, either.  
     
    And Thor... Loki closes his eyes briefly at the thought of his older brother, the shadow, the standard to which he and others had always measured him against and the standard to which he’d always fallen so terribly short of. The one he despises and loves all at once but that love no longer matters now, does it, not after everything, not after he tried to kill Thor, not after Thor threw him off the Bifrost into the abyss, and--  
     
    -- _Is this love, Agent Romanoff?_ \--  
     
    If that was love, Loki decides, he’s far better off without it. He would take fear and respect over love, because at least if someone fears you, they will not hurt you in such a manner as the ones who supposedly loved him did.  
     
    Except--  
     
    Loki looks at Sigyn, truly _looks_ at her, the freckles scattered across her nose, the black hair pulled back so severely from her face, the warmth of her brown eyes and her soft olive hued skin, the calm that surrounds her, the glint of intelligence in her eyes and the mouth that gives him such kind smiles all the time. He looks at the one who he cannot see ever hurting him and he thinks no, this is love, this is what it means to be loved and love in return, to have someone care for you, and whatever his family tries to pass off as love is a simple mockery of the word.  
     
    There is the thought that of course he still loves his family, how can he not, even after everything--but Loki firmly puts that fact into a part of his mind and locks it away, never to be thought of again. He cannot love them. Especially now. And whatever they felt for him no longer matters.  
     
    Love was such a useless sentiment, and Loki somewhat despises himself for falling prey to it, for falling for Sigyn as much as he has, for desperately craving it for so much of his life and still wanting it even now. But then the hate fades because to hate what he’s fallen into is to hate Sigyn, and he cannot hate her.  
     
    “I have no family,” Loki says lowly, and Sigyn looks up at him and he realizes how close they’re standing, but he doesn’t move away and neither does she.  
     
    “You do,” Sigyn says, “and you always will. Whether or not you wish to acknowledge them as such doesn’t change their ties to you.” She looks away, her expression sad for a moment. “No matter how much you may want it to.”  
     
    Before he can think on this long, the door to his chamber opens and Sigyn immediately turns away from him to face the person coming in. Loki clenches his fists and glares at the guard standing in the doorway.  
     
    “You’re needed elsewhere, my lady,” the guard says simply. He glances between the two of them, uncertainty crossing his face.  
     
    “Thank you,” Sigyn says with a nod. “You may leave. There’s something I must finish here before I go.”  
     
    The guard hesitates before stepping away and letting the door close. Sigyn sighs, shoulders drooping slightly, before going over to where she’d hid the muzzle.  
     
    “I’m sorry for this,” she says as she approaches him, muzzle in hand, and Loki simply sits down and stares at her.  
     
    “Until next time, my dear,” Loki says quietly, and Sigyn pauses just briefly before sliding the muzzle into place and locking it together. The metal cuts into his skin as always, cold and hard, and Sigyn’s warm hand lingers on his cheek before she pulls away.  
     
    “Until later, Loki,” she says, and she says it like a promise, and then she’s gone, out the door and leaving him to the quiet of his prison yet again and he loves her. He loves her.  
     
    What a useless sentiment. Especially now that he’s marked for death.


	2. Part Two

    It’s said that no one can hear you scream in space.  
     
    He screamed his throat raw, screamed until no sound came out, until he thought he’d lost his voice for good, lost it in the space that surrounded him, only to find himself still screaming later, his voice back, or maybe it’d never left in the first place--  
     
    Someone heard Loki scream. And they plucked him out of space.  
     
    And now he wishes they’d simply left him there to continue drifting until he died.     
 

* * *

     
    He wakes up screaming, screaming in horror and pain so loud that his throat aches, because Thanos was there, the Other was there, and there was such searing pain ripping through every bit of his being, not just pain, agony, sheer blinding agony, and there’s no blood because that’s not how they operate, they get under his skin and into his mind and they do it all without spilling a drop of his blood and he would admire them if it weren’t for the pain and the darkness and then--  
     
    And then Thor, shouting at him, shouting at him to look at the destruction, and through the pain of the punches his brother had landed on his face, he _realizes_ , oh gods does he realize what he’s done, he’d always known what he was setting out to do but as he glances around at the city, he realizes, and the knowledge of it all cuts deep to his core and--  
     
    And there is no going back from that at all--  
     
    He stabs Thor and chooses to continue going down the path that leads to his death and the muzzle--  
     
    And Sigyn’s there, no, how can she be, a creature such as herself does not belong in this darkness and the Other finds her and no no no no not Sigyn please and her scream of pain echoes even in his dream and vibrates in his bones and he can’t do anything can’t save her no he was the one who led her to this and--  
     
    And--  
     
    Loki wakes up screaming, the sound vibrating in his mouth as the muzzle muffles it, and he’s thrashing and someone’s yelling and it’s a woman but it’s not Sigyn and his chamber is dark--no too dark too dark he needs light because the Other does not dwell in light it’s too dark and--  
     
    He throws the woman aside roughly and he sees the gold of the healer’s robe briefly and she shrieks as she hits the wall, and then the guards are coming in and calling for more and he lashes out and it all passes by in a blur but then there are guards lying scattered on the floor at his feet and some are bleeding and some may be dead and he tears the muzzle off his face, bending the metal and twisting it and screams--  
     
    “ _Where’s Sigyn_ \--”  
     
    --And another guard tries to approach him but Loki kills him too and the door is open and golden light shines into the darkness of his chamber and the echo of pain is still there in his bones and then--  
     
    “Loki!”  
     
    He stops, looks in the doorway, and there she is, in a white nightdress, her hair out of its braided bun and flowing freely across her shoulders and the light frames her so beautifully and then he collapses to his knees and he’s not screaming, not anymore, but he’s muttering under his breath and blood seeps into his breeches and it’s still warm and then she’s there, leaning down next to him, and without any hesitation she pulls him into an embrace and then says something to another guard.  
     
    “Loki,” she says, right next to his ear, her voice soothing, and he wonders how she can even bear to be so close to him after this, when he could just as easily hurt her, and he’s clinging back to her, fingers digging deeply into her skin, hard enough to draw blood, but she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop him. “Loki, listen to me. You need to calm down. Listen to my breathing and do what I do. Breathe with me.”  
     
    It takes him a second, but then he manages to focus, listens to how she breathes, feels how her chest rises and falls, and he slowly begins to imitate that, taking deep breaths and holding them for a few seconds before letting it out, and soon his body is lax save for the trembling, his heart slows down, and the pain is not entirely gone but he’s calm, as calm as he ever can be, and Sigyn’s warm and her skin is soft against his and she’s whispering calming things in his ear and running a hand through his hair and he sighs, closing his eyes briefly and coming back from his nightmare.  
     
    “Loki,” she says after a long while, and she pulls away slightly to look at him, to look him in the eyes. He hesitates before meeting her gaze and somehow it surprises him that there’s no judgment in her expression, only concern, compassion, kindness, calm, and--  
     
    Love?  
     
    “You’re fine,” she says soothingly, then her gaze flickers down and she pauses. She runs a hand along the edge of his mouth and her fingers come away red. She frowns, puts her fingers back to the cuts that he can’t even feel, and closes her eyes. Before he can ask what she’s doing he feels it, her magic, seeping into his skin and deep into his body and _oh_ , she’s powerful, she’s just as powerful as he is, her magic is meant for far greater things than simple healing spells because she is a sorceress, not just a healer, and her magic is warm and calming and so different from his own harsh, freezing magic.  
     
    She heals his cuts, then the wounds left by the guards who’d managed to hit him, and when it’s all said and done a sliver of her magic lingers in his body, warm and comforting, and the pain is no longer there, all he can feel is Sigyn running through his veins and muscles and etching herself into his bones, and he realizes he’s not thinking entirely clearly just now but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, because Sigyn doesn’t care and she didn’t hesitate in coming to him and holding him and--  
     
    And damn this woman for being so good and gentle and kind when he does not deserve it, should not want it but does, he so desperately does.  
     
    “Loki,” she says after a while, after the healing, and he looks at her blankly. Time has passed, he’s not sure how much, and he finds himself feeling... numb. As if, after having gone through every gamut of emotion in as short a time as possible, he has nothing left to feel _but_ nothingness. He’s on the bed, his breeches are clean, and the bodies are nowhere to be seen. The floor gleams golden and shiny, the blood long since gone. Dawn shines into his chamber, warming it.  
     
    Sigyn sits next to him on the bed, still in her white nightdress, her hair still undone. There’s no longer any blood on her dress and before he can wonder how she got rid of it, she holds up a small glass bottle with liquid in it.  
     
    “You need to rest again,” she says, and there’s an apologetic note in her tone but Loki knows no matter how sorry she is about it, it still needs done and she’ll do it. “If you drink this, it’ll help you rest. You don’t have to do it, but--” Here she pauses and he stares at her, waiting, and then she takes a deep breath. “But I would very much like for you to drink it. I want you to rest for a while, Loki, and when you wake up I promise I’ll be here, and we can talk then. So, please.”  
     
    Well, how can he refuse that?  
     
    Numbly, Loki lays down against the pillows and Sigyn leans forward, opening the bottle and pressing it to his lips. He drinks, barely registering the taste of it, something sweet and cool, before she pulls it away and closes it again. She sets it aside, then looks back at him and brushes his hair out of his face.  
     
    “Thank you,” she says quietly, handing trailing down his cheek. Absently he leans into her touch, closing his eyes, and then he puts his hand on hers.  
     
    “Stay?”  
     
    There’s a pause before Sigyn moves up to lay on the pillows next to him. The bed is so small there’s barely enough room for the both of them on it, but she disregards propriety and presses close to him to keep from hanging off the edge of the mattress. He glances down at her, smiling slightly at the sight of her laying next to him, her hand still in his.  
     
    “For as long as you want me to.”  
     
    “A dangerous promise, my dear,” he says slowly, drowsily, and he recognizes the effects of the potion she gave him as they start to take hold, making his limbs heavier and his mind duller as the seconds go by.  
     
    “I don’t think so,” Sigyn says quietly. “There are dangerous promises to make, but I don’t believe this is one of them.”  
     
    He may kiss her hand then, he doesn’t know, doesn’t really care if he does, because then sleep takes him, and the last thing he’s aware of before darkness closes in on him is the warmth of her body next to his and how right the closeness feels.     
 

* * *

     
    Loki wakes sometime later, the effects of the sleeping potion still strong, still making him drowsy and heavy headed. The sun is still shining, though not through the windows of his chamber, and he’s not certain how long he’s slept, only that it was a deep slumber with no dreams, nothing, just peace.  
     
    It’s been a while since that’s happened.  
     
    Loki blinks a few times and then rubs his face, trying to wake himself up, and then he notices the lack of heat next to him when he could have sworn he fell asleep with something warm and soft beside him, and then he looks up and Sigyn’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the windows, and the expression on her face is so full of longing and sadness that it stops him short, makes him hesitate, because this is the most honest and bare he’s seen her since they met. She always wears that mask of kind politeness and calm, except for when she smiles, and even then her smile is tinged with sadness at times and he can’t quite figure out why.  
     
    Then she seems to sense him staring at her and shifts, turning to look back at him, and the expression is gone. She smiles and he notices that her hair is loosely tied back, a few strands escaping the binding. She’s still in her nightdress, though there’s a robe over it now, falling down her shoulders, and she’s beautiful, and he could get used to seeing her like this, get accustomed to waking up to her in bed next to him and falling asleep to her comforting heat next to him.  
     
    “Hello again,” she says quietly, moving so she’s facing him more easily. “How do you feel?”  
     
    He takes a moment to answer, thinking, frowning when he realizes that something happened before he fell asleep, something just beyond his grasp, beyond the fuzziness of his own mind. He glances around the chamber, taking in how clean it looks, realizing Sigyn wouldn’t have stayed in her night clothes if something hadn’t--  
     
    Then he remembers. In vivid detail, the blood seeping through his clothes and pooling on the ground and the Other and Thanos and--  
     
    “I’m fine,” Loki lies. He keeps his expression carefully calm, not wanting to give her any hint that what he says is anything less than the truth, though perhaps she doesn’t expect the truth from him of all people. Still, he’s always been magnificent at convincing people he was telling the truth, and it was simply their own fault when they fell for it. “Sore and still tired, but... I’m fine.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him for a long moment and he knows he isn’t fooling her. “We should talk,” she says at length, disregarding his lie, and his heart sinks because that is the last thing he wants to do. For once he wishes she would simply leave, just leave him there and never come back, just so he wouldn’t have to explain what happened. “Loki, earlier today you had a slight... I suppose the only word for it is break down. You were screaming in your sleep and the guards called for a healer to come and see to you.” She glances away then, guiltily. “I could not make it in time, so Ádísa came here ahead of me. And then you woke up.”  
     
    She looks up at him then but he can’t meet her gaze. “Loki, you were frenzied. You acted as if you were fighting for your life.” She leans in and he hates that he can’t see any judgment in her expression. Just concern. Just caring. She leans in and touches his hand and he doesn’t pull away from her. How can he? “Please, speak to me. I just want to know what happened. That’s all. I--” Here she pauses, takes a breath, then continues. “I’m worried. For you.”  
     
    He stares down at their hands and absently takes hers in his again, rubbing his thumb against the smooth skin. How to explain what happened? He can’t, Loki realizes. He can’t explain anything.  
     
    “It was a nightmare,” Loki says at length. “Nothing more.”  
     
    Sigyn frowns and moves back on to the bed properly, sitting next to him. “Nightmares are powerful things,” she says quietly, not moving her hand from his grasp. “Are you certain it was only that, though?”  
     
    Loki forces himself to meet her gaze properly. “It was.”  
     
    After a moment, Sigyn sighs and brushes the few strands of hair back behind her ear. She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the bed, before saying, “I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.”  
     
    Loki pulls his hand from hers roughly and, ignoring the heaviness of sleep remaining in his limbs, stands up. “I never asked for your help in the first place,” he all but growls. “You were pushed on me by others and I had no choice but to accept your presence for however long I’m kept here.” He should stop, he realizes, but he can’t, because she’s trying to find out the one thing that can’t ever be found out. She can’t know about Thanos, about what lurks outside of the Nine, about what they did to him.  
     
    Even if she did find out, even if he did break down and tell her, what could she do? Nothing. He could explain what happened all he liked--how long he drifted in space, where he fell to, who found him, who kept him in darkness and silence and pain until he finally agreed to a mad plan just on the slimmest of chances it would get him free--and it would mean nothing. She wouldn’t believe him. Odin wouldn’t believe him.  
     
    Never trust a liar, even one who was once _never_ family. Or worse, Loki fears, he would tell them, maybe even plead and beg for their protection, but they would not offer it, simply because he isn’t family, he is Laufey’s son, not Odin’s son, and he has committed many crimes in their eyes.  
     
    It would mean nothing.  
     
    He turns to face her then, taking in her shocked expression and wide eyes with a pang of guilt that he resolutely pushes away. It’s better like this, he thinks. “Why should I tell you anything?”  
     
    “Because I want to help you,” Sigyn says, her voice rough. She gets off the bed and marches around over to him, cheeks flushed with anger. “Because you need help, Loki, because you do not have to go about this alone even if you’re stubbornly determined to do so. I was not pushed on you, I came of my own free will--”  
     
    “Only because you want to know how I learned your name,” Loki hisses. “Why would you care about me, after everything? You only care because I caught your curiousity, and once that’s sated, you’ll leave.”  
     
    A silence falls between them briefly and Loki takes in Sigyn’s hurt expression, which she doesn’t bother trying to cover up. “Do you truly think me so awful as all that?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Do you honestly believe I would simply leave you here after finding out what I want to know?”  
     
    “Yes,” Loki says, feeling whatever ties they’d begun to form cut clean between them.  
     
    Sigyn stares at him. “What in the Nine have I done to make you believe that?”  
     
    And that’s the thing, Loki thinks, she’s done nothing. Everything about her is honest, innocent, and pure. It’s impossible that someone like her should exist. In Loki’s experience, no one is ever that good. But she can’t needle into things she can’t ever know, things Loki can’t ever tell her, and if he must push her away to ensure this, well...  
     
    Something in him falters but Loki keeps on, as he’s always done. “And what have you done to make me believe otherwise? Your duty. That is all. You’re a healer, doing your duty, tending to the monster marked for death. Did you think us to be friends?”  
     
    “Yes,” Sigyn says. “I did. Or at least closer than this.”  
     
    “Then you thought wrong.”  
     
    There’s another tense silence before Sigyn looks away. Realizing her robe is open, she closes it around herself and crosses her arms over her chest, almost protectively. “If you can’t tell me what happened, or why you did all this,” she begins, “then you could have simply said that. I would have understood.”  
     
    Loki stares at her, watches her as she gathers a few things and, with another brief glance at him, she leaves. He doesn’t turn to watch her as she does so, simply stands there and feels her walk past him and hears the door open and close behind him.  
     
    For all that he was so determined to keep her near him, he’s ruined that completely. She truly will leave him now, and he’ll be back to where he was: Without her, without her warmth, kindness, love.  
     
    Loki picks up the small vase of Asgardian wildflowers she set out the day before, holds it briefly, then hurls it at a wall where it shatters, pieces of glass and dying flowers falling to the floor.     
 

* * *

     
    He wakes up to the sound of the door opening and he doesn’t bother to turn around to look at it, to see who Sigyn sent to replace her in her duty. Night has fallen and his chamber is dark, almost too dark, and he’s stayed in bed ever since Sigyn left him. He can’t quite find the motivation to move anymore.  
     
    The person lights up the few candles scattered around his chamber, washing it in flickering light, and then goes over to the table. Loki keeps his eyes closed, not paying attention, at least not until the person comes up to his bedside.  
     
    “Loki?”  
     
    His eyes open in surprise as he takes in Sigyn, standing beside his bed, looking down at him in the candlelight. She looks beautiful as always, but the candlelight makes everything softer, dimmer, and it glows off of her in a mesmerizing way. Why was she here? She shouldn’t be, she couldn’t have been, maybe this was just a dream to torment him, and if so his mind is a very cruel thing indeed.  
     
    “Can you manage something to eat?” she asks, her tone polite, and no, she’s not a dream, she’s truly right there,  
     
    He sits up, still staring at her, uncomprehending. She returns his stare before motioning over to the table.  
     
    “If you can, please do so.”  
     
    It’s then he realizes that while she may be back professionally, she’s not back at all emotionally. She’s withdrawn again and irritatingly polite and it’s different from how the last few days have been between them, how the day before had been between them, when he’d clung to her and breathed with her and kissed her hand as she laid down next to him and promised to never leave.  
     
    He’s lost her.  
     
    With that knowledge heavy in his heart, Loki stands and goes over to the table without saying anything. He sits down, begins eating his meal, and after a moment Sigyn sits down at her usual place. He wishes she wouldn’t, wishes that she’d just go and leave him alone or _something_ , instead of this heavy silence filled with the echoes of their argument earlier, of the words he’d thrown at her and hurt her with.  
     
    He could do it, he realizes. He could apologize. He rarely ever apologized in his life and never meant it when he was forced to. But he would mean it this time, would mean it with every fiber of his being, would mean it entirely, for her. He regrets it all--his doubt of her, how he’d panicked and fought to push her away instead of trusting her enough to know that she wouldn’t push things if he simply said let it be.  
     
    All it would take is a simple “I’m sorry” and maybe, just maybe, she would forgive him and things could go back to how they were.  
     
    The words stick in his throat, though, when he opens his mouth to say them. What if she didn’t forgive him? Just like Odin, just like Thor, just like everyone else, maybe she had been pushed too far and so would now no longer accept any apology from him, no matter how much he meant it. Or what if she wasn’t here by choice anymore, was simply forced to come here because she couldn’t find a replacement just yet? What if she was only doing her duty now and no longer cared about him?  
     
    What if, what if, what if. Those two words keep him from saying anything, make him look back down resolutely at his plate, makes him choose silence and the evil he does know rather than the evil he doesn’t. It would be better to simply leave it be, because if he does apologize and she doesn’t accept it, he’s not sure how he could recover from that. It was better not to and just wait for her to leave him forever, instead of facing the truth of the matter. This, at least, he is used to.  
     
    Loki makes his decision, and the silence grows heavier between them.  
     
    When he finishes his meal, Sigyn simply gathers everything up. He doesn’t look at her while she does so, doesn’t turn to watch her as she leaves, ignores the hope in his heart that she’ll say something before she goes.  
     
    At the sound of her voice, his heart jumps and his body stills completely. “Remember to blow out the candles before you rest again,” she says quietly, politely. “Goodnight.”  
     
    And then she’s gone, the door closing and locking behind her.  
     
    Yet again, he’s alone. And yet again, it’s his own fault.  
     
    He was a fool for expecting anything else.     
 

* * *

     
    In the morning, he expects a new healer to arrive to begin helping him. He hasn’t decided how he’s going to act yet; he finds he’s lost the motivation to do much of anything once again. Perhaps he’ll let the healer do her or his work, won’t put up much of a fuss, let things progress smoothly, simply until his execution.  
     
    But then, it isn’t in his nature to be simple.  
     
    He’s staring out the window when the door to his cell opens and closes, and he’s not ready for this, not at all, but then he hears familiar footsteps and he turns quickly to see Sigyn standing behind him, carrying two plates. She sets them down on the table and glances up at him and gives him the smallest of smiles.  
     
    “Good morning,” she says, sitting down. “Please eat, if you’re able.”  
     
    He doesn’t go over to the table, simply stares at her. “Why are you here?”  
     
    She raises an eyebrow at him as she cuts her meat. “Why do you think?”  
     
    He pauses to consider. “Because it’s your duty.”  
     
    She chews for a minute, staring at him, before answering. “No.”  
     
    “Because you made a promise.” She struck him as the type to always keep her promises, and she had promised to never leave him.  
     
    “No. True, I made a promise, and I always try to keep my promises--” He allows himself a small bit of pride at having guessed right, even as his heart hammers in his chest at where this was all leading. “But if you truly wanted me to leave, I would have.”  
     
    “You believe I want you here?”  
     
    Sigyn is silent a long moment. “I think you must have a very low opinion of yourself, if you think I wouldn’t bother with you for any good reason.”  
     
    Coming from anyone else, that would have been laughable.  
     
    “So then,” she continues. “Why do you think I’m here?”  
     
    Loki thinks on it and when he comes across what he believes to be the answer, he has to pause a moment. Then he says, “Because you want to be.”  
     
    Sigyn smiles a little and nods. “Because I want to be here. That’s right.” She motions to his food with her fork. “Your food’s getting cold, Loki. You should eat. No more games for now.”  
     
    Loki sits, a sigh escaping him, the tension leaving his shoulders. He picks at his food in silence, staring down at it, mind reeling. She’s here because she wants to be here. That’s what she said, that’s what she meant, and how else can he take it? Even after everything, she still wants to be here, still wants to be with him, except no, that’s not right either, because they aren’t like that even though he wishes they could be.  
     
    And isn’t he a sorry sight, having grown restless and bored and sad without her around? He rejects the thought that he needs her because he does not need anyone or anything, but... perhaps it wouldn’t be a lie to acknowledge the fact that he’s gotten used to having her around. And it is not a lie to admit that he doesn’t want her to leave again.  
     
    Loki considers his options. And this time, he chooses the evil he doesn’t know.  
     
    He looks at Sigyn, waits until she meets his gaze quizzically, and says, “I’m sorry.”  
     
    Sigyn blinks, the only sign he’ll get that she’s taken aback, before she smiles and takes his hand in hers. “I know, Loki. And I forgive you.” She gives his hand a squeeze before turning back to her breakfast, smile still on her face, and Loki takes in the sight of that.  
     
    “So you’ll stay?”  
     
    She nods. “I will.” Then she pauses, her smile faltering. “But, Loki... if all that happens again, you know I have to ask you why. I want to help you. Truly, I do. I can’t do that unless I know what’s wrong, though.”  
     
    Loki looks down at their hands, which are still entwined, and knows that while they may have moved past what happened, the reason for it still cannot be spoken of. “Sigyn,” he says slowly, carefully. “Please. Trust me when I say that I cannot tell you, and that I have my own reasons for such. And it is not something you can help.”  
     
    Sigyn stares for a long time, her gaze pondering, before she slowly nods. She’s not happy with it, he can tell, but she nods all the same. “I understand. And if the time comes when you are able to speak to me about it... you will, I hope?”  
     
    He smiles at her and, for the first time in a long while, begins to feel the first spark of happiness in his chest. “I will.” That time will never come, but he knows that if it did, he would. He absolutely would. “I will, dear Lady.”  
     
    She scoffs lightly, still smiling. “Don’t call me Lady. I’m not.”  
     
    “You ask me to neglect showing you the proper respect?”  
     
    Sigyn’s still smiling, but something in her expression makes him pause. “I’ve no aspirations of greatness, Loki,” she says. “I’m not a noble lady, not a courtier. I’m simply the daughter of an Einherji who happens to have some gift with magic and became a healer.” She shrugs, unbothered. “You can respect me without calling me something I’m not.”  
     
    “Hmm,” Loki says, leaning back in his chair, wondering how far to push this, now that they’ve returned to their familiarity with one another. How to put it into words, he wonders. Imagine that, his silvertongue failing him when he most needs it, most needs to tell her how much she’s won his respect--and that is not an easy task, anymore. It never was, but it goes doubly so now, after everything.  
     
    He admires her. He laughs slightly at the realization, catching her attention, but he does not explain his sudden mirth. He admires her, admires her because she’s everything he can never be and doesn’t want to be, admires her for being his opposite in so many ways and yet so very similar to him, admires her simply for existing, and he wonders that she should have fallen on that side of his feelings instead of the other--hatred, jealousy, envy. The one so many others have fallen into.  
     
    He should hate her, but he finds he cannot. How strange a creature he is, how strange they both are.  
     
    “How best to show my respect for you then, my dear?”  
     
    Sigyn ponders it quietly, finishing her water. “You don’t have to,” she says at length. “I don’t want there to be any... pretense between us. If you start treating me like a noble woman, I’ll have to start treating you as a prince.”  
     
    Loki frowns, and Sigyn smiles in return. “Exactly. So please, let’s not. You’ve told me you respect me, so now I know, and you’ve no need to repeat it or do anything to prove it. I believe you.”  
     
    “As you say,” Loki replies. “You do not even care to know why?”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says. “You have your reasons, and even if I cannot fathom them, I won’t ask you to divulge them either.” With that, she stands and gathers up their things and goes to hand them off to the guards. Loki watches her as she goes. There’s a pattern forming here, he realizes, a way she says things that makes him pause, or an expression on her face that he catches before she hides it away beneath a smile. He wishes he could simply focus on these things until he figures it out, but she comes back and his attention sadly cannot be taken elsewhere.  
     
    “I may be late tomorrow evening,” Sigyn says lightly as she replaces the broken vase full of herbs with a new one, giving him a brief look. “I have... well, my parents are having a gathering, and I must attend.”  
     
    “Must you?”  
     
    “It’s meant for me,” Sigyn says, “so unfortunately, yes. The reason for the gathering can’t very well not show up herself, can she?”  
     
    “She could,” Loki says. “It would make everyone leave faster, certainly.”  
     
    She laughs, shaking her head and giving him a grin. “To have that sort of freedom would be wonderful,” she says wistfully, teasingly. “As much as I’d like a quiet evening spent reading, I cannot disobey my parents.”  
     
    Ah. Yes. Until she was married, her parents still held some sway over her. Not very much, if Loki suspects right--who could ever hold this woman down for long?--but enough so that she’s still expected to play along to their rules.  
     
    The thought of her marrying someone makes him think of the Einherji, and that effectively ruins his good mood, what little he had of it.  
     
    “Is it a betrothal celebration?” Loki asks, his voice tense.  
     
    Sigyn stills, gaze on the herbs, before pulling her hands back to lay at her sides. “No,” she says flatly. “My name day is approaching.”  
     
    He senses no lie in her words, and yet he knows he’s struck a nerve somehow. Sigyn stares hard at him, frowning, a look in her eye like she’s trying to figure something out.  
     
    “Why do you ask?” she finally says. She’s giving him a chance to tell the truth, to be open to her, and Loki clasps his hands together to keep them from trembling.  
     
    “I merely wondered if the Einherji I saw with you in the corridor has made his offer yet,” Loki says, his voice failing at being light, unbothered. He is bothered. He is deeply bothered by this, by all of it, because she belongs to him and he is hers and no one, nothing, should ever come between that.  
     
    Sigyn glances away to the table before sitting down stiffly. “He did that a while ago,” she says quietly.  
     
    Of course he had. “And did you accept?” Loki asks, already knowing the answer.  
     
    “I did.”  
     
    “You don’t sound pleased.”  
     
    She traces something on the surface of the table, thinking. “He wouldn’t be my first choice for a husband,” she says finally. “He isn’t... awful, but he is far more interested in me than I am in him.” She shrugs. “I tolerate him. But I would prefer to feel far more than mere tolerance towards my husband.”  
     
    This openness takes Loki aback, slightly. Up until now, while she’s trusted him in a way not many others have done before her, she’s never talked openly about her own life. Not to him. A part of him wants to take advantage of this, make her give breath to all her secrets so he can store them away, hoard them until he has use for them later, just like he used to.  
     
    He pushes that urge aside, though not completely. He does intend to keep everything she says in mind. But it will be only what she tells him freely, and nothing else.  
     
    “Can you not simply call it off?”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn sighs, rubbing her forehead. “It’s complicated. I--I would very much prefer to leave it alone for now, please. This... this place is sort of like an escape for me, in a way, and bringing these matters up here feels wrong. I would rather we not speak of it again. Not in here.”  
     
    Loki blinks slowly, tilts his head, before nodding. How strange that what’s a prison to him has become a sanctuary for her.  
     
    And if that’s so, then what is he to her? Is he just as important?  
     
    “Thank you,” Sigyn says quietly, then she takes a deep breath, recomposes herself, and smiles. “So. What shall we read today?”  
     
    Loki allows her to change the subject, to put her mask back into place, because after what’s happened between them--the hours he spent sick to his stomach because he was convinced he’d pushed her away for good, the night spent fearing he’d never see her again--he doesn’t want to push his remaining luck, however much it is. Not for now, at least. She may tell him in her own time. She may not. Loki will simply have to be content with that and, most terrifying of all, trust her to come to him when she’s ready.  
     
    And until then, he’ll be planning how to best take care of the Einherji.     
 

* * *

     
    Loki paces in his chamber the night of Sigyn’s name day celebration--naturally it comes on a beautiful, sunny day in Asgard. Anything else would be too out of place for a day celebrating Sigyn, he thinks. She had come in the morning and then for the midday meal, but as the sun begins to set and her usual time of arrival for dinner comes and goes, Loki finds himself growing restless.  
     
    He knew she would be gone, of course, she’d told him, but...  
     
    Loki shakes his head, laughing ruefully. He’s like some lovestruck fool, pacing in anticipation that his true love would show up sometime soon and end his miserable loneliness. Just like an idiot in a song or story. He forces himself to sit down, but then finds himself messing with his hands, his leg twitches, and soon he’s back up and pacing.  
     
    Briefly, he wonders why Sigyn hasn’t sent another healer or at least a servant to bring him his dinner. That starts off a wave of worrying. What if something happened to her? What if she was hurt? Or, more likely, everyone simply forgot about him.  
     
    When the door opens a while later, Loki nearly collapses in relief. Then he stops short of falling back into the chair and pretending to be relaxed and simply stares at Sigyn as she comes in.  
     
    Her hair is down. That’s the first thing he notices, the first thing he’ll always notice. It’s not tied back into a braid or a bun or anything--it’s down, it’s flowing freely around her shoulders, slightly curly and thick. As he looks closer he can see that two small silver hair pieces do keep it out of her face, but the rest is free and down with little ornamentation, as befitting an unmarried-- _betrothed_ , Loki reminds himself--woman.  
     
    He notices everything else after. She’s wearing a deep purple gown with a neckline that wasn’t scandalously low but skirted that edge, and she wasn’t wearing a drape over her shoulders to cover herself, either. Her sleeves were made of sheer and thin fabric, and as she walks over to him, the flow behind her slightly.  
     
    She’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, and he wants to tell her that, wants to make certain she knows it, but the tired look in her eyes stops him.  
     
    “Are you well?”  
     
    She manages a smile and nods. “I am. It was simply a long evening. I got away as soon as I could, though you’ll have to accept my apologies for appearing like this. I didn’t have the time or energy to change into something simpler.”  
     
    Loki merely nods, at a loss for words. She sets down one plate of food and then takes her usual seat, sitting down heavily and with a quiet groan.  
     
    “You didn’t have to come,” Loki says, ignoring his food in favour of staring at her instead. “You could have sent another healer, or a servant.”  
     
    She shakes her head. “This is my duty. And besides, I...” Here she pauses, seems to second guess herself, then shakes her head. “I don’t mind doing this.”  
     
    “You’re exhausted.”  
     
    “I am,” she says. “But not enough to miss out on this.”  
     
    He recalls what she said the previous day about her liking it in this room, and his own realization that it was a peaceful place for her, and lets it go. Truthfully a part of him had been hoping that she would admit to wanting to see him, but perhaps it was better that she didn’t.  
     
    “Don’t rush yourself,” she says after a moment. “Take as long as you need. I’m not in any hurry to return home just yet.” She takes out her hair pieces as he eats and sets them down on the table, and he stares as her hair falls down over her shoulders. It’s so long it goes past her waist, and Loki resists the urge to reach over and run his fingers through it, to entangle his fingers in it and--  
     
    Loki looks away to his food and tries to focus his thoughts elsewhere.  
     
    “How long have I been here?” he asks suddenly, out of nowhere, and it makes Sigyn look at him sharply in surprise.  
     
    “Hm?”  
     
    Loki picks at his food, staring at it. It’s something that’s begun to weigh on his mind for a while, ever since his little _accident_ a few days before. He’s never expected Thor to visit him past those first few days, of course, and he prefers it that way, but as he begun to think about it, Loki realizes that something isn’t right. It’s taken too long for the Council to gather, for Odin to bring him out to trial, for his death to greet him a second time and perhaps make it permanent this go round. And this makes Loki wonder.  
     
    “How long have I been here, in this chamber, Sigyn?”  
     
    Sigyn pauses, shifts slightly, and he thinks she’s about to lie to him before she says, “A little over a month. Thor saw to you for the first week, and then the duty was handed over to me.” Before he can say anything else, she continues. “You’re wondering why you’re still here?”  
     
    He doesn’t answer, though that in itself is an answer. Sigyn nods slightly.  
     
    “There’s been... trouble, elsewhere,” Sigyn says. “Thor’s had to go to take care of it. And the Allfather has been preoccupied with it as well.”  
     
    “So I’ve been forgotten,” Loki says, and his voice is oddly calm. Just as it’s always been with him and his family. He shouldn’t have been surprised.  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says. “Not forgotten. Truthfully, I think your family took any chance they could find to put off your trial for as long as they could.” She stares at him intently. “They don’t want to do it, Loki.”  
     
    “Do they intend to keep me locked up, then?” Loki asks, and if that’s their plan, if that’s what they want, they are fools. It would be better off to kill him, he thinks. Because he wants it, and because one such as himself cannot be trusted to live long. No telling how soon he’d return to his ways and be a danger to everyone.  
     
    Sigyn seems to struggle with the answer for a second. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “It’s not for me to say. I cannot say what the Allfather is thinking.”  
     
    “But you do feel comfortable saying they don’t want to sentence me to death?”  
     
    “Yes,” Sigyn says. “They mourned for you, Loki. Frigga’s eyes were red for months from crying, Thor would stand at the edge of the Bifrost for hours, and the Allfather--”  
     
    “Stop,” Loki says harshly, and Sigyn does. They stare at each other as Loki clenches his fists and tries to control his anger. “It doesn’t matter what they did, after my death. All that matters is what they did before it, and that? That was not enough.” Wasn’t enough, could never be enough, and what was more, after everything, he does not want their mourning. He doesn’t want their tears.  
     
    It doesn’t change a thing.  
     
    “Did you mourn me?”  
     
    He gives voice to the question before he can stop himself, and he immediately wants to take it back. He doesn’t want to know the answer and yet, he does, he desperately does. He knows he will get nothing but the truth from her, and he wants to hear what it would be in this case.  
     
    -- _We all did_ \--  
     
    Sigyn sits back in her chair slowly, studying him, before nodding. “I did.”  
     
    Loki smirks, feeling a wave of spite come over him. “Did you mean it?”  
     
    “As much as I was able to, when I didn’t know you,” Sigyn says evenly. “Forgive me, but you were nothing more than my Prince back then. We had never met. I only ever saw you from afar, and you... did not notice me.”  
     
    Another piece fits into place in the mystery that is Sigyn, and Loki feels his smirk fall slowly. She had seen him before that day in the corridor, and for all the times he hadn’t so much as glanced at her, one day he did. And that was enough to catch her attention. Centuries of being ignored and then, one day, she wasn’t.  
     
    Of course she was curious about him, given that. Loki struggles to sift through his memories for a second, trying to remember if he truly never did see her before he returned to Asgard--before he saw her thanks to the Tesseract--and after a while he decides it’s true. She never caught his attention.  
     
    He feels strangely guilty for it.  
     
    Sigyn shifts in her chair and continues. “I mourned for the Prince, for the second son of Odin and Frigga, for Thor’s brother and Asgard’s Master of Magic. But,” she says slowly, “I did not mourn for Loki.”  
     
    It stings a little, but Loki finds himself glad for her honesty. He would have hated her more for lying. He leans forward, close to her, and she does not move back, just as she never does. “Would you mourn for me now? Would you mourn for the Loki whose acquaintance you’ve made?”  
     
    Something in her expression softens, and the moment becomes far more tense than he thought it would be originally, and he’s all too aware of her breathing and the rise and fall of her chest and how the deep purple of the dress looks against her olive skin.  
     
    “I would,” Sigyn says softly, and there’s a hint of something in her tone that makes his breath stop in his throat. “I would mourn for you, Loki, and deeply.”  
     
    They stay like that for a while, staring at each other, before Loki raises a hand and brings it to her face. Her eyes slowly widen in surprise, but she doesn’t move away as he brushes her hair back behind her shoulder, out of her face, and then moves up to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers brush her neck and he resists the urge to smirk when he sees her visibly shudder.  
     
    “Thank you, Sigyn.”  
     
    He doesn’t move his hand away, and Sigyn seems too stunned to do anything except stare at him. He moves his hand down her neck, to her almost bare shoulder, to the strap that holds her dress up, savours the feel of her heat against his cool skin and then he lets his hand fall away as he moves back into his chair.  
     
    He’s quite satisfied with himself when he sees how hard Sigyn’s breathing and the nice flush that’s risen to her cheeks, takes a moment to appreciate how the flush makes her freckles stand out a bit more. He remembers how Theoric had done just this, the day he saw them both in the corridor, how he had tried to brush her hair back and how she had moved away from his touch.  
     
    She hadn’t moved away from Loki’s touch. Not at all. And Loki was going to relish that fact for a very long time.  
     
    “I--” she starts, then clears her throat and shifts in her seat again, rubbing absently at her neck. “You don’t need to thank me, Loki.”  
     
    He waves that off and watches as she slowly recomposes herself. Once she has, Loki begins to speak, his tone light. “So what is this terrible threat that Thor must go run off and destroy?”  
     
    Sigyn takes a drink of his water and shakes her head slightly. “The Dark Elves,” she says after a moment. “I’m not really privy to the Council meetings, so I can’t say anything past that. But it is them.”  
     
    Loki files that away to think on later, though there isn’t much he can do with it. Locked as firmly away behind Gladsheim’s walls as he is, the Dark Elves and his once brother are just a _tad_ out of his reach. He can only mildly hope that they don’t kill Thor before he gets a chance to.  
     
    “If you’re done,” Sigyn continues quietly, “I should go. It’s getting late.” She gathers everything up in silence and gives him a small smile before standing up. She turns to leave, stops and then looks back at him. “And if you’re cold, I could convince the guards and the Allfather to let you have a firepit in here to help warm the room.”  
     
    Loki doesn’t react save for a slight rise of his brow and a shrug. “I’m fine, for the moment.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him, her expression unreadable. She knows his lie, he knows she knows it, but she does not call him out on it. Instead she merely nods and says, “If you’re certain.”  
     
    He is certain. Certain that he can never tell her.  
     
    “Goodnight, Loki,” Sigyn says quietly. “I’ll return in the morning.”  
     
    “Goodnight,” Loki says, watches her leave, then sighs and looks down at his pale hand.  
     
    Once, his body had been warm. Odin’s lie had worked well, far better than any lie Loki could ever weave; his body was warm, his blood red, his breath visible in the freezing air of Jotunheim. But then he’d _fallen drifted wandered_ became so lost that not even Odin’s will could reach him anymore, and so the things that held his work together slowly came undone.  
     
    It hadn’t been noticeable at first--being tortured did tend to keep one’s mind off trivial things like how one’s body felt--but then one day he realized his body had become cold, or at least chilled, and he spent the rest of his days with Thanos awaiting the time when his skin would become that horrific blue again and his eyes would be red, not green.  
     
    It never came. Odin’s spell would be harder to break than that.  
     
    He is warmer now than he was with Thanos or on Earth, but it’s still cool, cooler than an Aesir should be, cool enough for Sigyn to finally notice--  
     
    No. She had noticed a long time ago. It only just now occurred to her that it might mean something more.  
     
    Well, she could wonder all she liked. Loki would not tell her the truth, not about this. He would rather tell her the truth about Thanos than he would this, because as much as she likely wouldn’t believe him about Thanos, she would believe him about his true parentage, and like so many other Aesir, she would be disgusted by him. Hatred of Jotuns ran deep in Asgard, the hatred ran in their very blood, and Sigyn would be no exception.  
     
    Loki stares at his hand, remembering the disastrous day everything changed, remembering the look of his own arm turning that dark, cold blue. Revulsion courses through him, threatening to make his dinner return on him, but he swallows thickly and keeps it down.  
     
    After a pause, he reaches into the space he keeps his daggers and pulls one out, looking at it. Then he presses the blade against his palm and slowly drags it across his skin, cutting into it, biting into it, relishing the pain that burns up his arm and makes him hiss slightly, and oh, how relieved he is to see the red begin to drip from the cut, stain the Uru metal of the knife, hide the gleam of the silver underneath the dull shine of the blood, and he watches it drip on the floor for a long time before putting the blade to the top of his forearm and cutting there as well, and again his blood comes out red, and he drags the knife up his arm just to make certain and each time he fears that instead of red, it’ll come out blue, Jotun blue, the bright blue their blood is--  
     
    At the end of it, Loki’s arm is aching with a dull pain and he has several new cuts decorating his skin, almost like Jotun lines, and he looks at the blood on his arm and on his dagger and on the floor before nodding in satisfaction. He’s not a monster. At least not visibly. Odin’s lie is still firmly in place. He sends his dagger away into the negative space again, uses a face cloth to clean up his arm and stop the bleeding as much as he can, and washes it out before using it to wipe up the blood from the floor.  
     
    Then he goes to rest and, strangely, thinks of how disappointed Sigyn will be with him when she comes the next morning and sees the red lines etched into his arm. But it is still better than the truth.     
 

* * *

     
    Loki shifts uneasily in his seat as he steals another glance at Sigyn, who is eating her breakfast beside him as normal. Her disappointment is palpable in the very air, making it heavy and tense and, quite frankly, awful. She’d come in early as usual and the look on her face when she saw the cuts almost made him feel guilty. She hadn’t said a word, though, simply set down their breakfast, came over, and healed his arm for him.  
     
    She then proceeded to go over his entire room, checking under things to see where he was hiding the instrument he used to cut himself. When she didn’t find it, she simply looked at him and he had stared back and she sighed, taking the glass vase of flowers out of the room.  
     
    Her silence on the matter won’t last long. He knows this. He keeps glancing down at his arm, which is now healed completely, not even a scar left to show what happened. Then he glances back at Sigyn, who seems lost in her own thoughts, and hates the waiting for what he knows will come.  
     
    Finally, when they’re both finished with their meal, Sigyn sits back and looks at him. “You know we need to talk about it,” she says, her voice deceivingly calm.  
     
    “We don’t _need_ to,” Loki says, just to be difficult.  
     
    Sigyn sighs slowly, brushing some hair out of her face. She’s wearing her hair slightly different today; instead of a braided bun, she has it back in a simple braid that reaches down to her waist. She looks beautiful, even if he’d rather have her in her purple dress instead of her plain golden healer robe. Still, he likes to think that maybe he’s part of the reason why she’s wearing her hair looser today.  
     
    He gets the feeling now is not the time to mess with it, though, like he did the night before.  
     
    “What did you use to harm yourself with, Loki?”  
     
    “Something sharp.”  
     
    She gives him an unamused look, and Loki smirks back. “We don’t need to speak of it. It won’t happen again. I was merely checking something.”  
     
    “Checking to see that you could still bleed?” Sigyn asks, incredulous. Loki thinks on it a moment, gaze drifting elsewhere, before nodding.  
     
    “More or less.”  
     
    Sigyn sighs again, rubbing her face with both her hands. “Why?”  
     
    Loki’s smirk fades and he can’t meet her gaze, not now, so instead he looks to the table. “I have my reasons.”  
     
    “Loki,” Sigyn begins, moving her chair closer to his. “I know we haven’t been exactly strict about the healer and patient thing, but in circumstances like these, I need to be your healer, and you need to tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”  
     
    He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at her, and after a moment he feels the warmth of her hand on his. He doesn’t pull away from her, merely glances down as she gives his hand a squeeze and he holds hers as well.  
     
    “Tell me what you want from me,” she says softly, leaning in to look at him imploringly.  
     
    It takes a moment, but finally he reaches forward with his free hand and puts it on her cheek. She closes her eyes briefly and, if he isn’t mistaken, leans into his touch slightly.  
     
    “Trust,” Loki says. “Last night was not a regular occurrence, at all.” He hadn’t done it for the pain. That had simply been a happy side effect. He’d done it to make certain Odin’s spell still held, and it did, and he would not feel the need to check again. Not before his death. “Trust me when I tell you that it will not happen again.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him, then puts her free hand on top of his hand that presses against her cheek. Her hand is a little rough against his, the result of washing them so often as healers must, but he finds the feeling of it far more wonderful than anything else.  
     
    “I do trust you, Loki,” she says, and he wants to laugh at how stupid a decision that would be had she been anyone else.  
     
    He brings her hand up to his face and kisses the back of it, gently, no hesitation even though he knows it’s likely a mistake, doing this. Sigyn watches him, a slight blush rising to her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop him.  
     
    “You are most kind, dear Sigyn,” he murmurs against her skin, and she smiles slightly before letting it fall.  
     
    “But do you trust me?” Sigyn asks, and the question takes him aback so much he looks up at her in surprise.  
     
    “What?”  
     
    “I trust you, Loki, we’ve established that,” Sigyn says evenly, “but do you trust me?”  
     
    Loki absently rubs the back of her hand with his thumb as he thinks on this. Or rather, he thinks of how to answer. “My trust is not so easy to win, Sigyn,” he says at length, partly stalling and partly because he wants her to know this, to know just what she’s accomplished where others have failed.  
     
    “Neither is mine,” Sigyn replies, her tone blankly matter of fact. He finds this hard to believe at first, then after a moment of thought, sees that it might be true. Kindness did not necessarily mean she trusted easily.  
     
    It takes him a while, but he finally says, “I trust you, Sigyn.”  
     
    She studies his face for a moment and he briefly thinks that if she expects to find a hint of his lying in his face, she doesn’t know him as well as she thought, but then she glances down to his hands in hers. “You trusted me before I ever came here,” she says slowly. She wasn’t studying his face for a lie, Loki realizes, but because she was seeing the truth. “I was told you might not welcome me, that you’d try to push me out or even harm me. Or that you’d act indifferent. But you trusted me before I ever set foot in this room.”  
     
    His skin prickles pleasantly where she runs her fingers against his skin, and the sensation crawls up his arms and down his spine in a shiver. He’s watching her carefully, though, knowing where this thread of thought is heading, knowing what she intends to bring up.  
     
    “And I never understood why,” Sigyn says, and her expression becomes so sad Loki immediately wants to make it go away, do something to make her smile again, and the hint of overwhelming loneliness he sees in her face hits him like a punch to the stomach. Then it’s gone, as it always is, as she always sets her mask back up before anyone can notice what she’s hiding beneath it. “I suppose I’ll never understand it.”  
     
    And simple as that, he understands. There are two meanings to what she said, the first of course being that she doesn’t expect him to explain why he trusts her, why he knew her name, why he glanced at her that day in the corridor when he’d always ignored her before.  
     
    But the other meaning is that she simply doesn’t expect to be so important to someone, so special, that they’d act this way about her in the first place.  
     
    He understands that more than anyone would know.  
     
    “Sigyn,” he says slowly, then stops, because once again his silvertongue fails him. “You know I have my reasons. And you know I cannot tell you.”  
     
    “I know,” she says, without a hint of bitterness. “And you must know how difficult that is for me.”  
     
    “I do.” Though truthfully, he had only thought about it so far as playing on her curiousity and knowing it would make her irritated. He hadn’t quite given it much thought past that. On a whim, he leans forward and kisses her forehead, and she doesn’t react at first but then she does, she pushes him back and stands up abruptly and he’s blinking, wondering what he’s done wrong, when the chamber door opens.  
     
    “The Queen is requesting your presence, lady,” the guard says, and Sigyn hesitates.  
     
    “I cannot leave my patient,” Sigyn says firmly, no waver in her voice. “Please give my deepest apologies to the Queen, and explain that due to circumstances beyond my control, I will not be able to leave this chamber for a day, at least.”  
     
    The guard seems reluctant but, after a moment, nods. “I’ll relay this to the Queen.”  
     
    “Thank you.”  
     
    Sigyn sighs and relaxes her shoulders when the guard closes the door and shakes her head, sitting back down. She looks at Loki, who is looking at her. “I didn’t mean to push you away because of...” she trails off, then shakes her head. “I heard the lock coming undone. That’s why I pushed you away.”  
     
    It takes him a minute to realize she means the lock on the door, then he nods. “I see.”  
     
    She rubs her arms despite the fact that it’s rather warm in the room, the sun shining in through the windows and heating it. Loki finds himself feeling rather frustrated, restless, and desperate to draw attention away from what he just did. “Why do you have to stay here?”  
     
    She gives him a look that he can’t read before saying, “While I do trust your word that it won’t happen again, there are... certain rules I must follow when this sort of thing happens with a patient.” She means the cutting. Loki bites back a groan. “One of those rules is observation. So. I’ll be here to observe.”  
     
    “Where will you sleep?” Loki asks suddenly, looking at the small bed that can’t hold both of them comfortably through the night.  
     
    “They’ll have to bring in a mat, I suppose,” Sigyn says, waving away his concern.  
     
    A while later, after Sigyn sent guards to fetch her some supplies, she approaches him hesitantly. “Loki?”  
     
    “What?”  
     
    “I...” she trails off before sighing and shaking her head. “The guards have returned with the things I need. But before they can come in, I need to make certain you can’t escape or... harm anyone.”  
     
    Loki glances at her, remembering the feel of the muzzle pressing into his skin. He doesn’t know what happened to it after his nightmare. He remembers tearing it off, but that’s it. Sigyn never brings it up, either. “I suppose my word won’t be enough of a guarantee?”  
     
    Sigyn manages a small smile. “I have my orders. I must follow them, in this instance.”  
     
    Loki stands without further comment, merely looking at her. She motions over to the far wall, opposite the door, by the windows. “Over there,” she says quietly, leading Loki over. She presses his back against the wall and he thinks of how much he’d enjoy this if the circumstances were different. Then she puts her hands on both of his wrists and puts them against the cool metal as well, and then--  
     
    Loki jumps as he feels her magic forming against his skin, warm and buzzing with energy. Then it’s done, and Sigyn eyes him for a moment before nodding and walking off.  
     
    “That’s it?” Loki says, moving his wrists against the magic. He glances down and sees rings of her magic encircling his wrists and attaching to the wall behind him.  
     
    “You may try to break them if you wish,” Sigyn says, distracted.  
     
    Loki does just that. And finds that he can’t. He tries again, sending his magic down to counteract hers, but no matter how hard he pokes and prods and pries at her magic, he can’t find the weak spots in it to break the bindings. True, his magic still isn’t fully recovered from the time spent elsewhere, from his attempt at death, but something tells Loki that even if he were at full power, he would not be able to break Sigyn’s bindings.  
     
    He files this information away to think on later and watches the guards carefully as they bring in a mat for Sigyn to sleep on, watches as they eye him nervously and look at the bindings with doubt. They leave and as soon as the door closes, Sigyn’s in front of him and breaking her spells with ease.  
     
    “It seems your many talents are wasted with your occupation, my dear Lady,” Loki comments lightly as he steps away from the wall, away from the windows that he does not wish to look out of anymore.  
     
    Sigyn gives him a long look. “I think not. Healing is my talent, the kind of magic I’m best at. Everything else is... well, I saw no point in not learning how to develop it, but I rarely have much use for it.”  
     
    “You could be a sorceress,” Loki presses on. “Not just a healer.”  
     
    “ _Just_ ,” Sigyn repeats, narrowing her eyes. “I’m quite happy being _just_ a healer, Loki.”  
     
    He stays silent, unable to really comprehend that. Perhaps once, long ago, he would have been happy simply being Thor’s advisor. But all that is very long ago and far from here, where he is now, who he is now. He craves something so much _more_ than that. He craves to be out from under his once brother’s shadow. He craves power. For so long in his life he lacked it, and once he had a taste of it, he wanted more, like a starving orphan given the feast of the gods and gorging himself on it, only to throw it up later because he was unused to such delicacies.  
     
    Only now, instead of his body rejecting everything he swallowed, his craving and lust for power has led him to his own death. It was so poetic, Loki thinks with a smirk.  
     
    He realizes Sigyn is staring at him and he focuses his thoughts on her again. “Would you not want to be something more?”  
     
    She hesitates. It’s so little a thing, but of course Loki always notices those, and in it he sees everything: She does. She very much does.  
     
    “What would I do with that much power?” she muses, looking away.  
     
    “Anything you like.”  
     
    She gives a quiet laugh, more breath than voice, and focuses on spreading out a blanket over her tiny mat. “While that sounds tempting, I think I’ll pass on that. My work is important, and I love it. I’ve no need of power.”  
     
    _Well,_ Loki thinks, _that makes one of us_.     
 

* * *

     
    Night falls, and Loki watches Sigyn as she reads by candlelight over at their table. The day passed without incident, as he knew it would, and he’s wishing time would slow so she wouldn’t have to leave again in the morning. He has gotten _used_ to having her around, and that scares him more than it should; how could he have latched on to her so quickly? She is a sorceress in more ways than one with how she has magicked her way into his good graces. He should hate her, he should, but he cannot.  
     
    Loki watches her, studies her, and finds himself in some kind of peace, through the slight terror she makes him feel. Perhaps that is why the thought of her scares him: He has not known peace in a very long time, and for one woman to bring it to him so willingly and so simply... it couldn’t be. It _should not_ be. There would have to be some other motive behind it. Nothing is ever that simple or that pure or that good.  
     
    Still, Loki watches her, because he cannot look away.  
     
    Her hair is still in its braid, though strands of it have fallen out and she hasn’t bothered to redo it, so now it’s slightly messy, and a shawl is wrapped around her shoulders as she reads. The candlelight illuminates her softly, throwing a warm glow on her skin, and she’s absolutely beautiful. He wishes to see her like this more often, relaxed and slightly messy and not just the healer but _Sigyn_ , as she is outside of her duty and as the people in her life know her.  
     
    “Is there something you need?”  
     
    Loki blinks, focuses, and furrows his brow in confusion. “How do you mean?”  
     
    Sigyn smiles at him, somewhat teasingly, almost... affectionately. “You’ve been staring at me quite intently for the past ten minutes.”  
     
    “Can I not appreciate a beautiful sight when I see one?”  
     
    She pauses then smiles again. “Do you say that to all the ladies you wish to woo?”  
     
    “Oh, my dear Sigyn, if I wanted to woo you, I would use material far more original than something you would hear from the likes of Fandral.”  
     
    She laughs, her head tilting back, her voice filling the room. “I’m certain you would,” she says after she’s done, her voice still carrying a hint of a laugh. “Fandral did try something similar on me once, in the healing rooms. The other healers wouldn’t stop teasing me about it for the rest of the day.”  
     
    Loki frowns briefly, thinking of Fandral going after his Sigyn. “Did you take him up on his offer?”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says, looking as if she’s about to laugh again. “Why would I? He’s a pleasant enough person but I wouldn’t take him up on any offer to bed him.”  
     
    Despite himself, he sees an opening and he wants to poke at it, draw out the secrets she’s hiding from it. Loki shifts, clasping his hands together, and quirks an eyebrow at her. “And what sort of person would be enough to entice you?”  
     
    She gives him a look like she can’t quite believe he asked that, then pauses to consider it. “I don’t know,” she says at length. “I never truly thought about it.”  
     
    “Truly?” Loki asks with a knowing smirk, leaning in. “Never?”  
     
    She’s silent for a long time, picking at the edge of her book, before saying, “I’ve been betrothed since I was young. Even before we were betrothed, it was just assumed we would marry one day.” She shrugs, almost defeatedly. “Therefore, I never gave it much thought. It doesn’t do to go thinking about things you can never have.”  
     
    A heavy silence falls between them until Sigyn stands, blowing out the candles and drawing her robe closed around her. “We should sleep,” she says. “It’s been a long day.”  
     
    It hasn’t, not truly, but Loki recognizes this for what it is, an attempt to take the focus off of her and embarrassment at having spoken so personal a thought out loud. He allows it, lets her focus somewhere else, and watches as she goes over to her mat. She looks back at him, expectant, and it takes him a moment to realize she’s waiting for him to look away so she can take off her robe.  
     
    He could argue that he’s seen her in her nightdress before and he wouldn’t mind seeing it again, but all he does is turn away, listening to the rustle of fabric as she takes it off and then settles underneath the blankets. He lays down and blows out the last candle, a small shiver going down his back at the blinding darkness that falls over the room. Then his eyes adjust and he relaxes, just slightly.  
     
    “Loki?”  
     
    He shifts to glance back at Sigyn. “Hm?”  
     
    She smiles at him, something he can just barely see in the darkness of the room. “Goodnight.”  
     
    He’s silent for a moment, wondering at the almost normality of this all, before quietly saying, “Goodnight, Sigyn.”     
 

* * *

     
    In the morning, after another night of little to no sleep, Loki watches the dawn break over Asgard as he listens to Sigyn’s quiet breathing. This is what his life has become, he supposes; an endless cycle of boredom, broken apart only a few times each day by Sigyn’s presence, broken apart only by his own mind sometimes, and he finds it dull and refreshing in equal turns.  
     
    It’s better than being at the mercy of the Other, of which the creature had none.  
     
    There’s a shifting from Sigyn and then a sigh, and he waits a few minutes until he hears her sit up with a quiet groan. He waits longer still until he hears her put on her robe, then turns around.  
     
    “Good morning,” she says, pleasantly surprised. “Did you sleep well?”  
     
    “I did,” Loki lies. “And yourself?”  
     
    “Yes, I was fine,” she says, though he sees her rub at the back of her neck absently and wince a little. “Well, I’ll get us some breakfast.”  
     
    He stands, intending to get dressed while she talks to the guards, but he stops when he hears the door open and Sigyn gasp. He turns, tensing like he expects a fight, then stops.  
     
    Frigga stands in the doorway.


	3. Part Three

    When he was young, Loki loved to spend time with his mother. He spent almost as much time with her as he did Thor (and he never really spent as much time with his father, nor Odin did not spend much time with him either, a fact that was not lost on him, even as a child.) He would sit at her feet and watch her weave and even sometimes help her, while the other ladies laughed and talked around them.  
     
    When he realized he could use magic, the first spell he learned was an illusion, a simple one but an illusion nonetheless, of butterflies fluttering in the air. He had run to her, excited and eager, and she had been so proud and overjoyed when she saw what her son was capable of.  
     
    He loved his mother. And more importantly, his mother loved him, and she’d made it known every time she looked at him, smiled at him, hugged him. He received no such sign from Odin.  
     
    Looking at her now, Loki almost says it, almost says the _mother_ that rises to his lips from his throat, but he stops himself. She is not his mother, he knows this now, knows it and feels it in the pain that knowledge sends through him.  
     
    He is not that eager little boy anymore.  
     
    “Lady Queen,” is all he says.  
     
    “Oh, Loki,” she breathes, her expression pained and her eyes wide. She takes in him, seems to see how different he is now, and then steps forward.  
     
    He steps back. He does not want this. Or perhaps he does, but he will not allow himself to have it. Why should he give them that forgiveness that he himself has been denied?  
     
    She stops when he moves away, and the hurt that crosses her expression fortifies him. This is what he knows how to do best. Hurting others is very easy, once you know where to hit. And why should Thor be the only one he gets to hurt?  
     
    Not for the first time, he wonders how she could have done it. How she could have looked at him as a baby and known what he was and felt perfectly fine in lying to him about it, in feeding him Odin’s illusion and lies and deception, in never giving him a hint that she felt sympathetic or kindly to the Jotuns. Ensuring that, one day when he did know the truth, he would be terrified of her, terrified of what she thought of him, what she truly thought of him, and putting her own love into question.  
     
    This was something he knows well about lies: Once the liar is found out, it puts everything they’ve done and said into a suspicious light, and Frigga is no exception to this. Why should he believe her now, when he knows the truth of it all?  
     
    “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”  
     
    “I came to see you,” Frigga says.  
     
    Loki smiles, different from the smile he gives Sigyn when they’re alone. It’s an empty smile, full of nothing for her, this woman he once called Mother. “After so long? And here I thought you’d forgotten me.”  
     
    “Never,” Frigga says, and the conviction in her voice almost convinces him. “Eir said I should give you some time, that--”  
     
    “I’m not interested in excuses,” Loki says coldly. “I have been here for over a month and you saw it fit to ignore me until now. Stand up, Sigyn.”  
     
    Frigga turns to look at Sigyn, as if she wasn’t aware she was in the room with them. Sigyn hesitates, then slowly stands up from her bow, keeping her gaze on the floor and her head inclined to Frigga.  
     
    “You should not bow to those who do not deserve it,” Loki says evenly, making sure each word strikes Frigga. Others should be bowing to Sigyn; she should not get on her knee for anyone.  
     
    “Loki,” Frigga says, and he can tell she’s trying to keep back her tears, “please, let me explain--”  
     
    “There is nothing to explain,” Loki hisses. “You have made your choices, Lady Queen, and now you get to reap the consequences of them.”  
     
    “Loki Odinson,” Frigga suddenly says, her voice firm, and a part of him--the child in him, the part of him that still loves his mother and wants her to love him in return, the part that still secretly fears her--shrinks back in the face of the oncoming storm she’s about to deliver him. But the rest of him stands stock still and simply watches. “You will let me explain and you will listen. Yes, I have made my mistakes, and there have been many of them,” she begins, and Sigyn gives the barest of shifts, her unease showing briefly. “But I still love you. You’re still my son. I only did what I thought was best for you.”  
     
    Is it any wonder he’s turned out like he has, he wonders, when he learned deception and lying from the best in the Nine Realms?  
     
    He smiles again, all charm, and says, “You are not my mother.”  
     
    There’s a sharp intake of breath from Sigyn who quickly recovers, and Frigga’s body goes still from shock.  
     
    Once, he loved his mother. Once, he loved his brother. Once, he even loved his father. None of that matters anymore.  
     
    “Sigyn,” Loki says, once the silence has been drawn out to a perfect length, once his words and the meaning of them have fully sunken into Frigga’s heart, “see the Lady Queen out now, please. I have no wish for visitors anymore.”  
     
    “I--I can’t do that, Loki,” Sigyn says quietly. “You know I can’t.”  
     
    “Loki,” Frigga says again, and he clenches his fists slightly. “I may not have carried you in my womb or gave birth to you myself, but I am still your mother.”  
     
    “Not if I choose to reject you,” Loki says. “And I do.”  
     
    Silence fills the room, unbearable, tense, before something like resignation fills Frigga’s expression. “I do love you, Loki. And I always will. You mustn’t forget that.”  
     
    -- _But never doubt that I love you_ \--  
     
    Loki only stares at her, taking in the tears in her eyes and the pain on her face, until she turns and leaves. Why would he want her love now, when she’s shown to lie to those she considers family?  
     
    He has no need of her. He doesn’t. He never will again.  
     
    Sigyn takes a deep breath, glancing at the door, and then turns to look at him. “That wasn’t right of you.”  
     
    “You know nothing of it,” Loki says, “so please refrain from speaking on it.”  
     
    “I think I know enough to go on,” Sigyn says and Loki almost laughs. _No,_ he thinks, _you do not know a damn bit of it, you only know what you have just heard and that was_ nothing. “I... I assume the Queen is not your birth mother. That you’re--”  
     
    “Sigyn,” Loki says, and something in his voice makes her stop and look at him. “Please. Let’s not speak of it.” She’s getting too close to the truth, too close to what he doesn’t want her to know, and it makes him twitch, makes him begin pacing.  
     
    Sigyn’s silent for a while, watching him, then steps forward and puts a hand on his arm. He stops, doesn’t meet her gaze, and quietly she pulls him over to the table and sits him down. Just this once, it seems, she’s deciding to keep her views to herself and allow him a moment of peace. Unearned, but peace all the same. Her hand stays on his arm, traveling up as he sits down to his shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to lean into her touch.  
     
    A few minutes pass, and finally she pulls away and goes to get properly dressed. He listens to the shifting of fabrics and doesn’t turn around, simply staring at the table. It’s a special kind of torture, he thinks, to have Sigyn near and undressing and him not being allowed to look at all. Sigyn reappears in his line of vision a moment later, dressed but with her hair still down.  
     
    “I should go get us something to eat,” she says, and he merely nods. She leaves him to his thoughts, leaves him to replay the past few minutes. He doesn’t regret it, any of it, and the small part that does hate himself for hurting Frigga is far outweighed by the part of him that simply doesn’t care anymore.  
     
    She lied. That was all the reason he needed.  
     
    Sigyn returns some time later and sets everything down, and they share an uneasy and silent breakfast. Loki glances at her occasionally, studying her expression, but she’s as closed off as ever.  
     
    Finally, near the end, he says, “You hate me for what I did.”  
     
    Sigyn pauses, then shakes her head. “I don’t hate you.”  
     
    “Then you disapprove of it.”  
     
    “I did make that clear, yes,” Sigyn says. “But you were right when I said I didn’t know everything,” she adds. She gives him a sharp glance while chewing a piece of apple. “What may sound like one thing could actually turn out to be another. So perhaps I should have waited a bit longer to say something.” She sips her water while he watches her. “But I still say it wasn’t right.”  
     
    It was right, Loki thinks. She deserved every bit of that.  
     
    “And so now you think less of me, dear Sigyn,” he says, “and how that thought pains me.” He’s smiling while he talks, but there’s a note of truth to it too. She must think lesser of him now, because who would think kindly upon someone who purposefully sought out to hurt their own mother, even if she did deserve it?  
     
    There’s a long silence from Sigyn before she says, “I don’t think less of you.”  
     
    “No?”  
     
    “No,” she says. “I know very well who you are, Loki, and what you’re capable of. The Allfather has not been able to keep the whispers about your actions on Midgard as silent as he wishes. And he made very certain I knew what I was getting into when I volunteered for this,” she says. “My time with you has taught me what to expect. Yes, I was taken aback by... what you said, but I don’t think less of you for it.”  
     
    “How forgiving you are,” Loki says, his voice quiet. “Almost too much so, sweet Sigyn.”  
     
    “No,” Sigyn says. “There are some things even I cannot forgive.”  
     
    He files that away to think on later, disregarding it otherwise for now. The important part is that Sigyn doesn’t dislike him or hate him for what he did. That’s all that matters.  
     
    “I’ll be returning to the regular schedule later on today, after the midday meal,” she says a while later, clearing the plates. She looks at him, almost hesitantly. “Will you be fine on your own?”  
     
    “I was fine before,” Loki says, wishing she would let go of the cutting issue.  
     
    She gives him an unconvinced look before taking the plates away, and Loki goes to fall back into bed, fatigue still deep in his bones. His gaze remains on the ceiling, as it always does, and his thoughts drift back to Frigga.  
     
    Loki Odinson, she had called him. How could she when she knows that he is not of Odin’s blood? Though he has no wish to be called Laufeyson, either. They both leave a bitter taste in the back of his throat, make hatred and anger burn through him. No, he is not of either of those men, and so he will take their names no longer. Just as he rejected Frigga, he rejects Odin and Laufey as well.  
     
    He is Loki, and that is all.     
 

* * *

     
    Sigyn returns some time later, and Loki doesn’t move from his spot on the bed when she enters. There’s silence and he can feel her gaze on him before she walks over, her footsteps as quiet as ever. She sits down on the edge of the bed, facing him, and he finally meets her gaze.  
     
    “What are you thinking about?” she asks, and for a moment he’s taken aback because how can he even begin to explain what he’s thinking about?  
     
    “Things,” he says at length, and Sigyn smiles and rolls her eyes slightly.  
     
    “I had guessed that,” she says, her voice teasing. “What things in specific?”  
     
    He lifts a hand and trails his fingertips up her arm, and she glances down briefly and her expression changes slightly but she doesn’t pull away, and he wonders when he stopped holding back and gave up pretending. He watches the skin on her arm break out in gooseflesh and he smiles a tad, happy to know he has this effect on her. “I’m not certain you wish to hear.” It’s the truth. His thoughts are not meant for the likes of her; she would surely be horrified and disgusted at them.  
     
    “I do,” Sigyn says quietly as his hand reaches her shoulder and begins to go back down. “I want to know what you’re thinking. No matter what it is.”  
     
    Loki’s silent, then sits up and watches her as he puts his fingertips on the low of her back and begins to let them crawl up her spine. Her eyes widen minutely but she doesn’t look away from him. He wishes that her dress wasn’t in the way, wanting to feel her bare skin instead, but for now this will simply have to do.  
     
    “Sweet Sigyn,” he says as his fingers go underneath her hair that’s still down and finds the back of her neck, feels the vertebrae underneath the hot skin and the start of her scalp. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fingers into her hair, and from the corner of his eye he sees her grip the bedsheets tightly. Her hair is soft against his skin, smooth, and given how close he is he can smell a faint whiff of the oils she uses in it. It’s something subtle, sweet, an Asgardian flower of some sort. It fits her, he decides as his fingers begin to trail back down her spine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Brave as you are, and no stranger to horrors, trust me when I say my thoughts are too much even for you to bear.”  
     
    His voice is soft and he dares to lean in a little, chin brushing against her shoulder, his breath against her ear. Sigyn squirms, just slightly, but doesn’t move away otherwise.  
  
    “I can bear a lot,” she says, her voice shaky, but there’s a note of certainty in it. Loki moves his hand to her other arm, beginning the pattern all over again, and watches as Sigyn’s eyes close briefly and she swallows hard. “I thank you for--the consideration, but--”  
     
    “Do you want me to stop?” Loki asks, partly to get her off the subject and partly because he’s curious.  
     
    Sigyn pauses, and so does his hand, though his fingertips don’t leave her skin.  
     
    “I would,” Loki says a moment later. “If you asked me to, I would stop.”  
     
    She swallows again and tries for a smile. “That puts you above some of the other noblemen I’ve had the misfortune of meeting, then.”  
     
    He frowns, thinking of some other man doing this to his Sigyn, when she turns to meet his gaze again. There’s no unease in her expression, merely a little... nervousness, and her voice is still shaky when she says, “No.”  
     
    He waits a moment, then continues on, up to her shoulder and then down again. Then, once his fingertips leave her hand, he watches to see what she’ll do next, takes in how heavily she’s breathing and, frankly, how heavily he’s breathing as well, and she bits her lip hard before taking a deep breath and shaking herself slightly.  
     
    “I still want to know what you were thinking,” Sigyn says quietly, and this earns a laugh from him because of course she wouldn’t forget it that easily.  
     
    “I think some of my thoughts are rather easy to guess,” he says against her ear before pulling away slightly. He laughs again at the blush that’s risen to her cheeks before laying back down, all too pleased with himself.  
     
    Sigyn’s silent for a long while, her gaze elsewhere, before she turns to look at him. “Why do you do all of this,” she begins, and he assumes she means what just happened, “when you can’t bring yourself to tell me even the most basic of things?”  
     
    He sighs, looking up at the ceiling again. “It’s complicated, Sigyn.”  
     
    “It’s not,” she says harshly. “You’re simply making it so.”  
     
    A tense silence falls between them while Loki lets those thoughts sink in and weigh on his mind. Is he simply making it far more difficult than it has to be? Perhaps, perhaps so. But Sigyn should know that it is simply in his nature. He’s not a simple creature, not at all.  
     
    “How can you act as if you love me,” she begins again, a few minutes later, her voice tight, “when you don’t seem to trust me, either?”  
     
    He doesn’t answer, keeps his gaze to the ceiling, and lets this play out as it will.  
     
    “You’re not deceiving me,” Sigyn says, leaning over, trying to get him to meet her gaze. “You’re not toying with me for some reason I can’t understand. What happened to you that’s so awful that you can’t tell anyone about it?”  
     
    Loki glances at her briefly, his expression carefully blank, before looking away.  
     
    What happened, indeed.     
 

* * *

     
    What happened is that his simple plan to keep Thor from the throne a while longer backfired so spectacularly that even he can admire it in a twisted way. It’s all so very poetic, how his own plan that was meant to harm Thor ended up harming himself far more than Thor ever could.  
     
    What happened is that he was made king and no one celebrated that, no one cheered and clapped for him like they did Thor, no voices rang out for _Loki, King of Asgard,_ and no one smiled at him as he took Gungnir in his hands and Frigga proclaimed him King. There was only silence, save for Odin’s ravens, and an overwhelming sensation of being handed the power to do everything he wanted.  
     
    What happened is that he tried to save Asgard, to save them all-- _for you, for all of us_ \--and the others did not trust him enough to do right by them, to be their King and protect them all from the horrors of another war with Jotunheim. What happened is that, in his last effort to truly win Odin’s favour, he lost what little remained of it in others, even his own once brother.  
     
    What happened is that he fell. He fell a long, long way, through darkness and stars and galaxies, drifting in nothing before being found by the one who courted death itself. What happened is that he was taken to a place where no light could ever shine in the darkness of that land, where creatures lurked in shadows and, for a time, he thought it funny that he should end up in a place full of what he was often accused of lurking in himself.  
     
    What happened is that Thanos and the Other tortured him for their own amusement, saw how his body cooled and then kept him near fire until he thought he would burn from the inside out, got under his skin and made it feel like his skin was being ripped from muscle and muscle from bone until finally, finally, he came up with a desperate bargain just so he could escape. It had been a desperate bet; he knew that Thor would never find him with Thanos, and while he knew that the Bifrost was broken, he had to take his chances and hope that Thor would find a way to Midgard right in the middle of his attack.  
     
    It was so simple a plan and, to Loki’s happiness, it worked.  
     
    Being locked up in Asgard was better--and safer--than being with Thanos.  
     
    What happened is that he found the Tesseract on Midgard, and this is what it showed him:  
     
    It showed him a woman, sweet and kind and gentle, who would stand by him no matter what, and who he loved with all his heart.  
     
    It showed him their children, two boys who looked more like her than they did him, one who smiled in the same shy way she does and one who smiled freely with everything he had.  
     
    It showed him a life of happiness and contentment, out of the shade of his brother’s greatness.  
     
    It was what he’d always wanted, and what he’d lost as a result of everything. Somehow, it cut deeper than anything else he’d lost thus far. And so, he let go of that future he could have had, knowing it would never happen. He would not know the woman with the kind smile and gentle nature, and he would not one day have two boys to call his own, two boys who would be proud to be known as Lokason.  
     
    He cut away that part of his hopes, like he had so many others.  
     
    That was what happened. And he could tell her none of it.     
 

* * *

     
    “I thought we’d already spoken of this, Sigyn,” he says, drawing himself out of his thoughts. “I do trust you. But my ways of showing trust are not the ways other people use.”  
     
    “And I ask you continually because I’m worried,” she says. She is not moving off of this, not easily. “Something’s wrong, Loki, I can tell. I’m here to help you but I can’t do that if you refuse to let me.”  
     
    “It’s nothing you can help with,” Loki says. “There is nothing in any of the books you studied, nothing that Eir ever made you practice, nothing you’ve learned that could help me now. And even if you could, it would be dangerous, and I would not want you to risk yourself for me,” he says bluntly. “Not when it would be wasted, in any case. My days are numbered, are they not?”  
     
    Sigyn stills at that, her eyes widening slightly. Then she frowns deeply, clasping her hands in front of her. “Perhaps not,” she says. “The Allfather may be merciful to you. You are his son.”  
     
    _I am not his son,_ Loki thinks, but he cannot say that without rousing suspicion on Sigyn’s part. She can ignore the fact that Frigga isn’t his mother. Sometimes, kings wander away from their queens and lie in the bed of another. Sometimes that ends up in a bastard. Loki lets her believe that that’s all it is, that Odin is still his father but Frigga is not his mother, because if she heard that Odin was not his father...  
     
    Well, it would simply bring up far too many questions for Loki’s liking.  
     
    “Even if he does not execute me for my crimes, he will still be expected to exact punishment on me,” Loki says. “How kind do you think he can afford to be? A king cannot be kind, he cannot take mercy on one such as myself. If not death, then I am likely to be tortured for the rest of my days, or however long he and the Court deem fit. Or perhaps I will simply remain locked away in here,” he says, motioning to the room. “But he will not show me mercy, Sigyn. Of that you can be certain.”  
     
    She stares at him, and he can see her thinking, see in the way she studies his face. “And whatever it is you went through would not be able to change your fate?”  
     
    “What?”  
     
    “If you told the Allfather and the Court the entire story of what happened to you, it wouldn’t change anything? It wouldn’t alter their decision in any way?”  
     
    He narrows his eyes at her. “No,” he says at length. “It wouldn’t.”  
     
    “And you’re willing to believe that and not even take the chance?” she asks, and the slightly accusatory tone in her voice makes him twitch with irritation. “Loki,” Sigyn says, coming over to him before he can say anything. “Tell me. Tell me what happened, and I can tell the Allfather in turn. Maybe it will be enough to at least keep you from being executed or tortured.”  
     
    “It wouldn’t change anything,” Loki sighs. “And I--”  
     
    “Do you love me?”  
     
    He falls silent and looks at her, uncomprehending for a moment, before saying, “What?”  
     
    “Do you love me?” Sigyn asks again, her eyes boring into him, unblinking, waiting for his answer.  
     
    It’s strange, Loki thinks, how she has to ask. No, he hasn’t said as much. But surely the way he treats her, the way he speaks to her and looks at her and touches her is enough to tell her that he loves her? If not, if none of that can convince her, then what will saying it accomplish? Will she disbelieve that too?  
     
    And, he secretly acknowledges, he’s afraid of saying it. Afraid that if he does, she’ll reject him, say she holds no such feelings for him. It’s almost laughable how childish it is, this fear, and how much the possibility of her rejection terrifies him.  
     
    The silence stretches on for too long, he does not answer quickly enough, and something in Sigyn’s expression falls, crumbles, but... she doesn’t look surprised. She looks so resigned, as if she’s used to this. She sighs and bites her lip, closing her eyes before standing and walking over to the window.  
     
    Loki watches her, slowly sitting up on the edge of the bed, realizing he needs to fix this but not entirely knowing how.  
     
    Sigyn stares out the window for a long time, her back to him, hugging herself. Then she speaks, her voice unwavering. “Lies have their place,” she says. “Sometimes they’re necessary. As are illusions. But in this--” she pauses, then shakes her head. “In something like this, I have no use for them. I don’t want them. It’s cruel and unfair. You’re just so... you’re so confusing, Loki.” Then she turns to look at him, and it takes everything in him not to look away from her. “I came here not knowing what to expect, uncertain of how you’d take to me. Everyone told me to be careful, to watch my step, to make sure I did nothing to anger you, because there was a real possibility that you would hurt me.”  
     
    Something about that niggles at Loki, doesn’t quite fit into something, but Sigyn continues on before he can piece it together.  
     
    “And then I actually get here, and I find that you--well, you’re wary and yes, you’re dangerous. But you’re also kind. Maybe not to anyone else, but you are to me. I became comfortable with you, in a way I haven’t been with anyone else in a long time. And sometimes you look at me in a way or you do something that makes me think maybe it isn’t just some game for you, that you do feel something for me.” Sigyn pauses, swallowing hard, and he can see the tears in her eyes. “But then you pull away again, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.”  
     
    She seems to be done, so Loki cautiously ventures, “Sigyn, I have my reasons for what I do--”  
     
    “Do you think me a fool, Loki?” Sigyn says, her voice rising, cutting him off and making him fall silent again. “Do you think me blind and deaf to what goes on outside of these chamber walls? I know you took the Tesseract and that you must have touched it at one point. I know the Tesseract shows people things. How idiotic must you think I am if you thought I wouldn’t make the obvious connection between those two things?”  
  
    Before he can say anything, she continues, drawing closer, her voice rising higher in her anger. “I know the Tesseract showed you something about me, and that was where you learned my name. And I know you were hiding that from me to keep me around. I knew that as long as you wanted my company, you would never tell me a damn thing, but I knew anyway.” Sigyn leans in then, making sure he hears every word she says next. “ _And I still stayed_.”  
     
    They stare at each other for a long moment, Sigyn breathing heavily and Loki simply looking at her, before the anger fades from her expression slightly and something almost like uneasiness or fear replaces it. “But why?” she asks, her voice suddenly shaky. “Why would the Tesseract show me to you? What do I have to do with anything?”  
     
    She’s trembling slightly now, from fear or anger or maybe both, Loki can’t tell. He hates the sight of it, wants that self-assurance of hers to return instead, wants to take her in his arms and hold her until she calms down, until she allows him a moment to process what she just told him.  
     
    “I tire of lies and illusions, Loki,” she says simply. “I know that’s stupid of me, but it’s the truth.” She looks at him, hands trembling, then steps closer before he can do anything else and, with perfect clarity, says, “What am I to you?”  
     
    Something in Loki falls away, some resolution or conviction, and a laugh escapes him, as short lived as the smile that accompanies it. “Everything,” he says, because what’s the point of continuing the game anymore? Not when he’d already lost before it’d even begun.  
     
    Sigyn’s eyes widen with shock and she breathes out a quiet, “What?”  
     
    “You were everything to me,” Loki says, “you _are_. And I was everything to you. That’s what I saw when I touched the Tesseract, dear Sigyn. I saw a kind, gentle lady with a name declaring victory and I saw what we meant to each other.” Loki smirks, crossing his arms over his chest almost as if to protect himself. He does not mention the children. He cannot. Maybe someday, but not now. “Does that answer your question?”  
     
    She stares at him for a long moment, then reaches out and grabs the front of his tunic tightly, pulling him to her and closing the space between them. Her lips meet his hard, and briefly he thinks she’ll leave a bruise on him and by the time he processes what’s happening, her force has softened and it’s gentle now. Loki closes his eyes and rests his hands on her hips, presses her against him, and her hands let go of his tunic and go up his chest to encircle around his shoulders. One hand finds its way to the back of his neck and up into his hair, mimicking what he did to her earlier, and he makes a small sound into the kiss.  
     
    They stay like that until Sigyn breaks the kiss slowly, staying close to him so he feels her warm breath on his face. “I take that to mean yes,” she says quietly. “Yes, you do love me.”  
     
    “I do,” Loki says, ignoring the terror that threatens to overtake him at saying that. Love may be for children, but this is far more than love, he decides. This is everything, _everything_ , nothing else matters but this and them and her and the fact that the Tesseract was wrong, he hadn't lost her, will never lose her, he was hers, completely hers, and nothing would ever change that. They would simply find a new future for themselves.  
     
    He puts his arms around her waist and leans up to kiss her again. “No more words for now, Sigyn.” Then he pauses, uncertain, and backs away a little to look her in the eye. “That is, if this is what you want.”  
     
    Sigyn pauses, and he can tell what she’s thinking. They both know where this is heading, if she says yes, they both know what it means for her later, what it would mean if her family or the Einherji ever found out. What it would do to her if it ever got out amongst the rest of the Aesir and Asgard.  
     
    He’s asking much of her, perhaps too much. But he can’t not ask, and though he knows it’s entirely selfish of him, he hopes she’ll say yes.  
     
    Sigyn puts a hand on his cheek and gives him a shaky smile, her expression certain and resolute. “Yes,” she says. “This is what I want.”  
     
    Loki smiles, just a tad, and his hands go up to her hair and he runs his fingers through it, just as he’s always wanted to do. “Then I shall not deny you.”  
     
    He kisses her again, his hands going to the back of her dress where the lacings are. He undoes them until her dress is loose enough to fall off her shoulders. She lets it fall to the floor, leaving her in just her underdress, which he makes quick work of too. It soon joins her healer’s robe on the floor as well, and then there’s just her, just Sigyn, standing naked in front of him. He takes her in, from the lines of her shoulders to how her hair falls over her chest, to the swell of her breasts, to the dip of her waist to the curve of her hips. She is beautiful, so absolutely beautiful.  
     
    She’s watching him nervously, and he smiles up at her to reassure her as much as he can. He kisses her chest and she shudders, hands coming to rest on the back of his head, encouraging him. Her skin is soft and warm and, if he focuses, he can feel her heart beating hard. She pulls away from him a moment later and he watches as she comes to sit on the bed, holds her gaze as he moves on to it as well so he’s no longer sitting on the edge of the mattress. He pulls his tunic up over his head and throws it aside carelessly, and Sigyn lets out a quiet breath, her eyes traveling down in admiration and blatant desire.  
     
    He pushes her back on to the mattress with a kiss, and feels her hands on his sides a second later, and he eagerly leans into her touch, wanting more of it, and he allows himself a moment to be proud of his self control. There’s nothing he’d like more than to have her breathless and thoughtless beneath him within moments, but he holds back, going slowly for her. She’s a little nervous, he can see it in her expression and the way she clumsily fumbles with the top of his breeches, unused to doing such a thing. He doesn’t want to startle her, though he does pull her hands away and back up to her head.  
     
    “Patience, love,” he says, grinning down at her, and then continues leaving a trail of kisses down her front, making her squirm when he reaches her abdomen. He gently bites her hipbone, making her gasp and jerk her hips up a little. He glances up at her. “Do you dislike that?”  
     
    “No,” she says with a small shake of her head. “I just--didn’t expect it.”  
     
    He goes over to her other hipbone and bites it as well, a bit harder, and she doesn’t stop him and doesn’t jerk up in surprise again. He situates himself between her thighs and looks up at her again, questioningly, giving her the chance to say no yet again. Gives her another moment to consider things, and see if she wants to continue.  
     
    She meets his gaze and nods slightly, still looking certain.  
     
    Heart pounding in his ears, he kisses the inside of her thigh first, his lips barely brushing against her skin, and she squirms again just slightly. He holds her leg in place, hand smoothing up and then down, as he kisses her again, and she’s making faint little sounds that make him smirk against her skin. She’s fun to tease, he finds out, and tease her he does, kissing further up her thigh and then going back down, repeating this on both legs until finally she sighs and says, “Loki, please, if you--if you’re going to do something, do it.”  
     
    He pulls away to look up at her, making certain she’s watching him, and says, “As my lady commands.”  
     
    He spreads her open, then shifts so her thighs are resting on his shoulders, and she trembles as he leans in and finds her clit with his tongue. She gasps sharply and her hips twitch and she tenses slightly underneath him as he works, going slowly at first, not putting too much pressure on it, sucking on it occasionally, and he revels in the sounds she makes. She's quiet at first, and then slowly she gets louder, her self-consciousness fading as he begins to truly put his tongue to work, her nervousness leaving her the longer he continues.  
     
    He slips a finger inside of her and loves the moan that escapes her and the way her hips lift off the mattress slightly as he draws his fingers in and out of her. Her hand finds the back of his head and he feels her fingers entangle themselves in his hair, sending shivers down his spine and making him work harder, moaning. After he puts another finger in, Loki glances up at her, watching. Her eyes are closed and there’s a crease between her brow that speaks of her tension, of her need to release, and so he angles his fingers to begin hitting a spot deep inside of her that makes her gasp and roll her hips upward, and he grins, and soon her breath comes in shorter bursts and her moans grow deeper until finally he hears a muffled cry and she clenches around his fingers as she arches her back off the bed. He loves every second of it, of knowing that he can bring her to this point, of hearing her moan and whimper and knowing that he’s caused this, he’s made her feel this way.  
       
    After several moments she rests back against the bed and he slows, letting her recover. He lets his fingers continue their work, albeit at a slower pace, and pulls his head away for a moment to kiss her thigh again. He waits until he judges that she’s mostly over it, then lowers his head again, because of course he won’t leave it just at that. He wants more of this, more of making her feel this way and he wants her unable to walk from the lack of strength in her legs and have her mind completely blank from the passion and the pleasure. He loves her, he absolutely loves her, and loves the way she pants and moans and says his name in a voice that’s gone shaky and breathless and faint from what he’s done to her.  
     
    Minutes later, he has his wish as she comes again. Her legs go slack on his shoulders once it’s over and fall to the bed as he begins to crawl back up. He takes in her expression, how relaxed and content she seems, her face and neck pleasantly flushed. A small, dreamy sort of smile plays at the corners of her lips and makes him smile in turn. She laughs as he kisses her neck, and it vibrates against his lips.  
     
    “You’re beautiful,” Loki whispers, breath cool against her skin, and she pauses briefly before bringing a hand up to his hair and entangling her fingers in it weakly.  
   
    "And you," she says, "are impossibly wonderful." She sighs and lays back again, letting him continue to suckle on her neck, and then her hand leaves his head and trails down his front. “Now can I get you out of those?” she asks, her voice quiet against his ear as her fingers begin to unravel the lacings on them.  
     
    Loki laughs, a little taken aback by her sudden bravado. “You may do whatever you like with me, dear Sigyn,” he says, and smirks at how her blush deepens at that.  
     
    “Good.” She sits up, forcing him up as well, and focuses on what she’s doing. Soon she has them unlaced and she watches him intently as she pushes his breeches down his hips and then his thighs. He slips out of them, pushing them off the bed absently, and lets her eyes wander as much as she pleases. She runs her fingertips down his front and then down the line of his hips, and his skin warms from her touch. It isn’t the burning, suffocating heat of a fire that’s too close, but a pleasant warmth that sends all his nerves on end and a tingle up his arm, making him shudder.  
     
    With his eyes closed, he doesn’t notice what she’s about to do until she does it, and he gasps as her hand takes hold of him gently, almost a little meekly. She pauses, most likely watching him, then slowly brings her hand up. He moans, just quietly, and manages a smile at her. “Aren’t we--forward now,” he stutters out, and she smiles just a little. She experiments with movements, gripping harder and softer alternately and with different speeds, and he's lost in the sensation of it, eyes closed and low moans escaping his throat.  
   
    "Is that okay?" she asks, her tone slightly shy as her thumb presses against the vein on his underside, and it takes him a moment to catch his breath and answer.  
   
    "It's perfect," Loki groans. He moves in closer to her, leans in, their noses brushing against each other before he kisses her hungrily, and after a while he presses against her and makes her take her hand away. “Sigyn,” he says against her mouth, pulling on her hair slightly. “Lay down.”  
     
    There’s a pause, and then she pulls away and does as he asked, and he waits--just barely--until she’s settled and he shifts her legs apart and settles himself between them. They share a look before he readjusts slightly and, when he pushes into her as gently and slowly as he can, he kisses her again, muffling her gasp of pain as her fingers dig into his shoulders. He stops, pulls away and nuzzles her neck, murmurs “I’m sorry” and tries to focus on her when all he feels is her heat surrounding him and her body blazing against his, and he grips the bedsheets tightly to keep from moving.  
     
    “Just--give me a moment,” she says, voice wavering, and he kisses her again as she slowly relaxes and then, after a while, says a simple, quiet, “go.”  
     
    He’s gentle and all he can feel is her, her legs around his hips and her nails digging into his back with each slow thrust, and soon enough her quiet moans join his and she kisses his collarbone and then bites it hard, encouraging him, and he mutters things into her ear that make her whimper and quietly beg for more and gods, he loves her, he loves her, he loved her from the first moment he saw her in the Tesseract and that love only grew when she willingly stepped into his prison and took the muzzle off and--  
     
    “Sigyn,” he groans as he feels the familiar heat in his gut, knows what's about to happen, knows that she's bringing him to the same edge he brought her to earlier and she seems to sense that he's close, so close, and her fingernails trail down his back, biting into it, and all he can say as the heat grows is, "I love you--"  
     
      He misses her reaction as his orgasm washes over him, making him shudder and groan and utterly lose himself for a few precious moments as pleasure burns through his entire body. No longer does he fear the darkness lurking in his mind or even remember that it's there; no longer does the knowledge that he may be imprisoned in Gladsheim for eternity make him restless and weary; no longer is he terrified by the thought that, somewhere in the many Realms, Thanos is waiting to find him one day and give him his punishment.  
   
    All there is is Sigyn, her black hair spilling out on the mattress, looking just as good as he knew it would, and how much he utterly, utterly loves her.  
   
    Loki finally relaxes against her and she kisses his shoulder again. He slowly pulls out, carefully, and then nuzzles her neck again before rolling over onto his back. The loss of contact is startling, the cool air of the room finally reaching him now that he's not sharing in her heat, and he comes down from his high. They stay like that for a few long minutes, catching their breath, contenting themselves in the afterglow, trying to stay on the small, narrow bed as much as possible.  
     
    Peace settles over him, comfortably, like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. It’s relaxing, making his limbs heavy with fatigue, joining the contentment he feels. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this good, and it makes him reach out for the person responsible, makes him turn over so he can face her again. Sigyn has her eyes closed as she lays next to him, her breath evening out slowly. He pushes some hair off her sweat slick forehead and then leans forward, kissing her shoulder.  
     
    She sighs, turning her head towards him, and opens her eyes. This close, he could count the freckles on her nose and see individual eyelashes. Sigyn bites her lip, then smiles at him. “I love you, too.” She takes his hand in hers and kisses his palm softly.  
     
    “Stay?” Loki asks, knowing it’s getting close to time for her to leave again, as she’s returned to her normal schedule.  
     
    Sigyn hesitates, considering, then nods. “As long as I’m able. I’ll have to tell the guards.”  
     
    “In a moment,” he says, taking his hand out of hers and wrapping it around her waist, pulling her close. “Let me just... have this.”  
     
    “Mm,” she says as he buries his face into her hair, settling his head in the crook of her shoulder and neck. He listens to her breathe, feels the rise and fall of her chest, and he knows now that if he has to, he will kill the Einherji. He cannot have her; Loki will not allow it, cannot allow it.  
     
    They stay like that for a long while until finally Sigyn pulls away and kisses his forehead. “I need to tell them.” He lets her sit up slowly, watching as she winces and looks down at her legs briefly. She stands and gingerly walks over to the bathing area while Loki looks at the red left behind on the bedsheet.  
     
    They’ll have to get rid of that, somehow. No one would believe them if they said it came from Loki hurting himself again--it’s not enough for that, and it’s on the bed. He knows what everyone will immediately suspect, and they would be right.  
     
    As he’s pondering how best to do it, Sigyn comes back, her gait slightly better. She slips on her underdress and healer’s robe, then runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth it out. She sits down as she begins braiding it, and he watches her fingers work.  
     
    “What will you tell him?”  
     
    Loki doesn’t have to specify who. Her fingers still for the briefest of moments before she takes up her work again. “I’ll tell him nothing,” she says. “I’ll end the betrothal and deal with the consequences of that as best I can. And then...” She stops, ties off her braid, and then lets her hands fall to her lap. “I don’t know.”  
     
    “You’ll stay with me.” It seems obvious to him, and he wonders why it isn’t so for her.  
     
    She glances back at him. “It won’t be that simple, Loki. You and I can’t get married. And eventually, they’ll want me to stop taking care of you.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Unless I can convince them that you’re better with me and only me, but... we can still never talk about this to anyone.”  
     
    “I don’t care about anyone else,” Loki says. “And I don’t care if they know or not.”  
     
    “I do,” Sigyn says. “We have to be careful, Loki.” She reaches over and puts a hand on his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin. “How do you think people will react if they learn about this? How the Allfather would react? It would cause too much trouble.” She shakes her head, her expression completely certain. “It would be simpler to just keep it between us.”  
     
    “And if your Einherji asks why you’re refusing to marry him?”  
     
    “He’ll understand,” Sigyn says, and the way she says it makes him think that perhaps he will. But perhaps he won’t, and that’s not a risk Loki can take. Not now. “You should get dressed. We can’t have the guards looking in and seeing you naked, can we?”  
     
    He sighs, not really wanting to bother. He stands up anyway and retrieves his clothes from the floor, pulling them on again. His back burns slightly when the fabric touches his skin, and he grins. Sigyn’s left her mark on him, it seems. He should have left one on her as well, but he can do that another time.  
     
    When he turns back around, the blood is gone from the bedsheets. He gives Sigyn a quizzical look and when she sees it, she shrugs. “I’m a healer. I learned very quickly how to get blood out of fabrics using magic.” She looks at the place it was at, her expression unreadable, before standing and walking over to the door.  
  
    He follows her and he turns her around and kisses her again before she opens the door. They linger in the kiss for a while until he pulls away. She looks slightly dazed for a moment, then she blinks and recovers. “Behave yourself,” she says, smiling a little, and makes shooing gestures with her hands.  
     
    He smirks and steps away and once he’s far enough back, she opens the door and steps out for a moment. It’s a long time before she returns, making him nervous after a while. When she finally returns and closes the door behind her, Loki wastes no time in going over to her again to kiss her. Now that there’s no longer any pretense between them, he finds he can’t stop wanting to touch her, to be close to her and have her near. He never liked her leaving before; he finds he cannot abide it now, and hates it every second she’s gone.  
     
    “What did you say?” he asks between kisses, and it takes Sigyn a while to answer.  
     
    “I said you were doing worse than I thought,” she says. “And that I’ll need to stay with you some more, to watch over you. I had to go to Lady Eir herself, which is why I was gone so long. I’m sorry,” she says, looking apologetic, then smiles up at him. “But now I have you to myself for at least the rest of the day, if not tonight as well.”  
     
    Loki grins, putting his arms around her waist. “Perfect.”  
     
    Sigyn’s quiet for a moment, smile still on her face, before it falters a bit and her gaze lowers to his neck. She runs a finger along his collarbone, making him sigh as his skin prickles underneath her touch. “You’re still cold,” she says quietly, and everything stops.  
     
    How long can he continue to hide it, he wonders, when she’s maybe already figured it out for herself?  
     
    “I’m fine, Sigyn.”  
     
    She pulls away from him slightly, tilting her head up to look at him in the eye, a frown on her face. “Don’t evade me. Please,” she says. “If we’re going to be this way, Loki, we need to be honest with each other.”  
     
    “I’m not often honest,” Loki says, keeping hold of her. He wants to escape, but his need to touch her outweighs that. “That I bedded you does not change the fact that I can tell you nothing.”  
     
    Sigyn looks up at him and waits until he meets her gaze before she says, “If your lies and tricks didn’t stop me from loving you, neither then will your truth.”  
     
    She will not let go of this, he realizes, not until she has her answer. His dishonesty will push her away just as much as the truth will. _I cannot win_ , Loki thinks, and he hates that this is a position he’s been in many times in his long life.  
     
    “You say that now, dear lady,” he says, “and yet once you actually hear the truth, you may feel differently. Do not say things you can’t hold to.”  
     
    “I will hold to it,” Sigyn says firmly. “I will.”  
     
    The evil he doesn’t know beckons once again, and Loki has no choice but to take the chance.  
     
    _You trust her,_ Loki thinks. _Trust her to make the right choice._  
     
    “It was true, what Frigga said,” he says at length, his voice flat. Tension stiffens his entire body, and he makes no effort to relax. “I am not her son. And neither am I Odin’s son.” He lets that sink in, watches the shock and the confusion cross over Sigyn’s expression. “You see, sweet Sigyn,” he says, leaning into to whisper in her ear. “I am Laufey’s son.”


	4. Part Four

    Once, a very long time ago, at the end of a bloody war, a victorious king stepped into a temple of the Jotuns and found a baby. This in of itself would not have gained his attention much; where else would the women and children go during a battle, a siege, but to the one place they hoped their enemies would not attack? He expected to hear babies crying, to hear women murmuring amongst themselves.  
      
    But there was none of that. There was just the one baby, crying, in an empty antechamber. There were no women surrounding him, no other children, and no mother to quiet him.   
      
    That was what caught the victorious king’s attention. The empty silence, broken by a single baby’s wail for his mother who, the king realized, was not coming to calm him.  
      
    And so did Odin Allfather, King of the Nine Realms, come to take Loki Laufeyson as his own child. Little details like how he found out the baby was Laufey’s and what, exactly, Loki had been left in the temple for were lost. They were not important, in the end.   
      
    What was important that Odin had found a beautiful sign of life amongst so much death and, far off in the future, perhaps a chance to do through this child what he himself could not: Bring peace between the Realm Eternal and Jotunheim.  
      
    Loki wonders if it pains him now, how badly those plans went awry, and how quickly, how easily. Does the Allfather mourn him, he wonders, or does he mourn the fact that his carefully laid plans had all been for nought, and he will not be remembered as the King who brought peace to the ever warring Realms?  
      
    He does not care to know. It doesn’t matter now. What’s done cannot be undone.      
   

* * *

      
    Sigyn sits quietly, her hand over her mouth, her eyes bright with tears and horror and shock. Loki watches her, his expression blank, and remembers well what it feels like to lose all trust and faith in someone you were taught to always believe in. It’s as sudden as a kick to the chest, hard enough to break ribs and knock the air from your lungs, and it lingers in your chest. It settles on your heart, weighing it down, the knowledge that this person you’ve been told to put your faith in to lead you and protect you can sometimes do terrible things in order to grant that protection.  
      
    It’s not an easy thing, learning that the King is not as good a man as you’d thought. And less easier still, learning that the man who you just bedded is not an Aesir but of the race of monsters.  
      
    _This is what it will be like,_ Loki realizes. _This is what it will be like for her to love me, to be with me. To be constantly faced with the horrors of the Nine Realms instead of safe inside the golden walls of Asgard._  
      
    Hatred for himself makes bile rise up in his throat, but he swallows it down hard. He’s waiting for a response, a reply, anything from Sigyn. When he’d finally told her the story of how he found out his true parentage, he had let her go, his arms falling from her waist to hang limply at his sides, and she had not asked him to embrace her again.  
      
    He attempts to not take that as a sign of things to come, but it’s a difficult task. Instead, Loki sits, and he waits. He waits for the blow that will come, one way or another, sooner or later. He is helpless and he despises it.  
      
    Finally, Sigyn takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly speaks up. “He never told you.”  
      
    “No,” Loki says blankly. “He did not.”  
      
    “And he... he changed everything about you,” she says, finally looking at him, looking at his eyes. He thinks that, in place of the green, she’s imagining them to be red instead. He wonders how she finds the image, but nothing in her expression gives that part away, at least. “You’re Laufey’s son.”  
      
    “By blood, at least,” Loki says with a grim smile. “But I killed Laufey rather than ever truly acknowledge him as my father.”  
      
    Sigyn swallows thickly, seemingly at a loss for words. And then her horror deepens and Loki knows she’s thinking of the cuts he gave himself, only two days before. She now knows what it meant. “I--” she starts, then stops and tries to gain a hold of herself. Her gaze goes aimlessly from place to place, and Loki waits. That’s all he can do anymore.  
      
    He waits for her to say that he’s disgusting, a monster, and that she’ll never come to see him again. That she regrets letting him bed her, regrets everything.   
      
    Instead, when Sigyn speaks, it’s not what Loki expects. It’s a simple, quiet, “I’m sorry, Loki.”  
      
    It takes him a moment to process that, and then he says, “What?”  
      
    “I’m sorry,” Sigyn says, and then he thinks that this must be it, this must be her finally pulling away from him for good and apologizing for it. Of course she’d apologize for it, the damned gentle woman. “I don’t... I don’t know what else to say.” She laughs sardonically and puts her face in her hands. “For once, I don’t know what to say.”  
      
    Loki waves it away, resisting the urge to reach out for her. Instead he keeps his hands clenched tightly on his knees, knuckles white. “I don’t want pity, not for that.”  
      
    “It’s not pity,” she says, her voice firm. “Pity is useless.”  
      
    “As you say.” He studies her face, pursing his lips. They’re cracked and dry, and he absently licks them before saying, “And what will you do now?”  
      
    She blinks at him. “How do you mean?”  
      
    “Don’t play the fool, Sigyn,” he says, his voice low. “It doesn’t suit you. You know what I mean.”  
      
    She frowns in confusion, then realizes. “You mean about you being a Jotun.”  
      
    He simply nods and waits for the blow to fall.  
      
    “I don’t care.”  
      
    It’s a blow, but not the one he’d been expecting. He’s so dumbfounded at first that it takes him a second to find the words to answer, and even then, all he can do is repeat, “You don’t... care,” his voice flat and uncomprehending.   
      
    “I don’t,” she says, eying him. “Did you think I would?”  
      
    “I just told you that you fell in love with a Jotun in Aesir guise and allowed him to take your maidenhead,” Loki says bluntly. “Kind as you are, all kindness has its limits. Is this not yours?”  
      
    “No,” Sigyn says. She sits forward in her chair and reaches out for his hands, and it takes everything in him not to pull them away from her grasp. “I’ll admit I’m surprised,” she pauses, as if realizing the severe understatement of what she’s said, before continuing. “But this changes nothing. It doesn’t for me, at least.” She watches him before saying, “Please tell me you aren’t going to say it’s better for me if I’m not with you. I can never abide that in stories.”  
      
    “Even if it’s the truth?”  
  
    “Loki,” she says quietly, something in her expression making him stop and look at her, really look at her. “I don’t care that you’re a Jotun. Why should I?”  
      
    Loki stares at her, hoping she isn’t expecting an actual answer to the question. It’s absurd. Why shouldn’t she hate him now? Hatred of the Jotnar was ingrained in the Aesir’s blood itself. The Jotnar were monsters. They were enemies, and that was simply how it was.   
      
    Sigyn waits a moment, then sighs. “You know very little of what my life is like outside of these walls. Trust me when I say that this--” she gives his hands a squeeze and brings one up to her face, kissing his knuckles, “This is far better than some things that await me.”  
      
    “Don’t you see, Sigyn,” he says, unwilling to let it go, because she can’t possibly understand what she’s asking for. “This is what it means to be with me, to stay with me. Any horror you’ve seen up until now will be nothing compared to what being with me will show you.”  
      
    “Then let those horrors come,” Sigyn says calmly. “I do not fear them.”  
      
    “You should,” Loki yells, suddenly standing. How dare she be this good, this pure? How dare she willingly step into this prison for him and now say she has no fear of what could happen to her because of him? “You should fear them. You should be terrified. I’ve gone to places where creatures worse than the Jotuns lurk, and they’re closer to you than you think, Sigyn.   
  
    "You think you’re protected? You are not. It would be easy for them to break the thin defense and protection of Asgard and come for you, and it would be because of me,” he says, and he hates the way his voice cracks. Suddenly he’s not the tyrant, no longer the monster that went to claim Midgard for his own and killed simply because he could.   
      
    Now he’s the boy in the relics vault, a lingering cold on his hands and in his blood from the Casket, looking up at the man he had called father and feeling his heart break with the sinking realization that he is not of Asgard.  
      
    “How can you be so brave, so damnably good, when you don’t know what awaits you?”  
      
    “Maybe I would, if you’d tell me,” Sigyn says, and the words only incite him further.  
      
    “I can’t,” Loki says, beginning to pace. “It changes nothing, it wouldn’t change anything, and you--you damn, stubborn woman, don’t you care what might happen to you?”  
      
    “No.”  
      
    Her voice is so faint, Loki almost thinks he must have heard wrong. But he didn’t. He stops his pacing and turns to look at her. And then wonders why he never put the pieces together before.  
      
    Sigyn’s hands are clasped tightly in her lap, and there’s a smile on her face, but there’s no happiness in it. It’s sad, resigned, and trembling, threatening to fall. “No, I don’t care what happens to me.” She pauses, glancing away, then speaks up again. “Or I didn’t, before I came here. Before I met you.” She gives a feeble shrug, and tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, Loki. Why did you think I was so calm, the first time I stepped in here? Anyone else would have been terrified. But not me.” The tears spill out, sliding down her cheeks. “Not me.”  
      
    She starts to cry, gradually crying harder and harder until she’s sobbing, doubled over and clutching her sides as they wrack her body. Loki stands there, watching it, feeling a strange sort of detachment.  
      
    How had he not seen it before?  
      
    And then he realizes that he has, of course. He’d caught on to the hints before, the way she phrased things or how she spoke about herself--so uncaring, so disdainful. He’d seen that she very firmly put a mask up to hide whatever she was truly feeling, and once--only once--had he seen that mask fall, when he found her sitting on the edge of his bed and looking out the windows, her thoughts unfathomable to him then.  
      
    The mask has fallen once again, and now Loki sees Sigyn for what she truly is: A woman who no longer cares what happens to her, because so much has.  
      
    She’s trying to muffle her sobs with her hand and only partly succeeding, and it’s enough to break Loki out of his thoughts. He steps over to her, uncertain, before kneeling down in front of her. Comfort has never been his strong suit, but he can’t stand by and watch Sigyn cry. It tears at him, the sound of it, how it keens from her throat and middle. To see this woman, this woman he loves, who was usually so self-assured and bold, torn down in such a way... it is something Loki never wants to see again. His hands hover uselessly by her knees for a moment, and then he pulls her off the chair and into a hug.   
      
    It’s not the smoothest thing he could have done, but it doesn’t matter. Sigyn gasps in surprise, then seems to cry harder, burying her face into his shoulder. He keeps his arms around her tightly, squeezing, and stays that way because he doesn’t know what else to do.  
      
    “Sigyn,” he says after a while, “I’m sorry. Please, stop. Don’t cry.”  
      
    Her body is shaking, her hands trembling, and it takes her a long time to calm down. When she finally does, she doesn’t move from his grip for a while, and he awkwardly pets her hair. A small part of him wishes Frigga were here, as she would know how best to handle this. But unfortunately for Sigyn, she has only him for comfort, and he thinks he’s doing a poor job of it indeed.   
      
    She finally pulls away and dries her cheeks and eyes, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry, I--” she stops, sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t mean to do that.”  
      
    “Are you well?” he asks, studying her nervously, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Sigyn, please.”  
      
    “I am,” she says after a moment, taking another shaky breath. “I simply... I let my emotions get carried away,” she says, smiling weakly. She finally looks at him and he’s surprised to see that she’s embarrassed.   
      
    There’s an uneasy and awkward silence between them before Loki asks, “Is it true?”  
      
    Her gaze drops to the floor and she puts her hands in her lap again. “It is. Before I came here, I didn’t care what happened to me. If something happened, if you attacked me--”  
      
    “I wouldn’t.”  
      
    “I know that now,” Sigyn says with a wry smile. “Clearly. But I didn’t before I came here. In fact, everyone kept asking me if I was certain I wanted to do this, because you had already harmed some of the other servants. The Allfather himself asked me if I was sure. And I was.”  
      
    “So you didn’t come here out of the goodness of your heart,” Loki says, and if he’s honest with himself, this hurts just a tad. “You didn’t come here to find out why I looked at you that day.”  
      
    “Of course I did,” Sigyn says, and he’s reassured by the sudden firmness in her voice, the conviction of it. She’s slowly returning to the Sigyn he knows. “I came here because I was needed, and because no one else would. You had no one else. I know a little of what that feels like, and I would not wish it on anyone, even someone who has done what you have.”   
      
    He stares at her, a horrid realization dawning on him. “You wanted me to kill you.”   
      
    The thought terrifies him, but what’s worse is that, had he not known of her through the Tesseract... he might have. He might have killed her. Maybe not right at first, maybe not even for a while, but if he didn’t know what she was to him then he would not have cared about spilling her blood at all.  
      
    How strangely things fall into place, sometimes.   
      
    Sigyn hesitates, then shakes her head. “No, I didn’t want that.”  
      
    It’s not a lie, which only confuses Loki more. “Then what?”  
      
    She picks at her skirt, thinking. “I wasn’t hoping to be killed,” she repeats slowly. “But... if it had happened to me, I would not be as missed as some of the other healers I work with. Or some of the servants who might have taken my place, had I not volunteered. I’m--I’m inconsequential,” she says. “And very few would mourn me.”  
      
    How well he knows that feeling. He used to wonder if anyone here in Asgard mourned him, during his time away. In truth, he suspects only Thor truly mourned, and Frigga. No one else mourned for him, he knew, because no one mourns the wicked. And he knew, without a doubt, everyone in Asgard considered him wicked. That was simply how it was.  
      
     Loki shakes those thoughts off and focuses on Sigyn. He ignores the tremble in his hands as he rubs her back, doing what Frigga used to do when he was upset. It’s all he has to base his actions on; if he were to think of a way to comfort someone himself, he wouldn’t know where to start at all.  
      
    He tries to think of something to say, some way to respond to that, but all he can ask is, “And now? Do you feel the same?”  
      
    “No,” Sigyn says without hesitation. “I don’t.”  
      
    The tension leaves him and he sighs in relief. The idea of Sigyn dying or being killed sends a cold shock through him and, at the very thought of it, he feels his mind threatening to wander again in the way it had his first days back in Asgard. His hold on her tightens a tad. She cannot die. If she did, Loki very much fears what would become of him once that light and happiness was taken out of his world.  
      
    He kisses the side of her head and holds her until she finally pulls away, brushing her cheeks clean again.   
      
    “I’m sorry,” she says again, and it grates against him.   
      
    “You don’t have to apologize.”  
      
    She opens her mouth to respond, then stops and inclines her head. “I... very well.”  
      
    He will kill the people responsible for making her act this way, making her believe she has to apologize for every little thing. And, Loki promises, he’ll do it slowly.   
      
    She stands and holds out her hand for him, and he takes it. Once standing, she smiles up at him, obviously trying to move on from the display she’d just made. When all he does is stare back at her, her smile falls a tad and she sighs, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.  
      
    “Maybe I should go. I’ve made things awkward.”  
      
    “No,” Loki says, reaching for her arms and pulling her back towards him. “You said you’d stay. Until tonight.”  
      
    “That was before I made a fool of myself.”  
      
    “Stop that,” Loki says firmly, putting a hand under her chin and bringing her face up to look at him. Her eyes are still red from crying and she looks a tad embarrassed. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”  
      
    She studies him a moment before smiling slightly again. “You can’t just order me to stop feeling a certain way. It doesn’t work like that.”  
      
    “You’ve done it to me,” Loki says, leaning in to kiss her forehead and bring an arm around her waist, pressing her against him. “And it’s quite effective when you do it. Are you saying it’s not as effective as when I do it?”  
      
    Sigyn laughs quietly, placing her hands on his chest. “I wish that it were,” she says. “I’ll be fine, Loki. Truly. Just not right away.”  
      
    He kisses her cheek, leaning down further to bite her ear. She shivers and when he pulls away, he smirks at the blush reddening her cheeks and the shyness in her expression. “You’re not inconsequential,” Loki says. “You’re far from inconsequential, sweet Sigyn.”  
      
    Sigyn’s quiet, her gaze distant, before saying, “Perhaps to you.”  
      
    “My opinion is the only one that matters,” Loki says, grinning.   
      
    She laughs, louder this time, and shakes her head. “True enough, I suppose. I think it finds me well, being important to someone.”  
      
    “You are,” Loki says. “Never doubt this, Sigyn: You are important to me.”   
      
    And then there is no more conversation, because he leans down to kiss her again, and they stay like that for quite some time.      
   

* * *

      
    “How did we meet?”  
      
    Loki stirs and opens his eyes, looking down at Sigyn who’s lying her head on his chest. They’re both lying in his small mattress, nearly on top of each other so they don’t hang off the edge or fall off. It’s late afternoon, the sun no longer shining into his chamber, and the room is dark and cool. They’ve spent almost the entire day in bed, just laying there, Loki fiddling with Sigyn’s hair and dozing lightly.   
      
    It’s the happiest he’s been in a long time. And he doesn’t even have the nagging fear in the back of his mind that it might be taken away from him soon, not like any other time he’s been this way.   
      
    “Hmm?”  
      
    Sigyn looks up at him, her hand pausing in its tracing of runes on his chest. “How did we meet, before? Did the Tesseract show you that?”  
      
    He runs his fingers through her hair. “No, it didn’t.”  
      
    “Oh,” she says, and she sounds disappointed. “I wonder, then. How we met instead of this.”  
      
    Loki considers it. It’s not something he’s thought of, really, but it’s an interesting question. How, indeed? How did they come to meet and fall in love and marry and have two beautiful sons? He’s not sure. The Tesseract only showed him a brief glimpse of Sigyn and their boys, and made it all too clear what she would have been to him, what they would have had together.   
      
    “I suppose I’ll just have to make something up instead,” Sigyn says, and Loki chuckles quietly.  
      
    “And how do you imagine we met?”  
      
    “Hmm,” she says, pondering. “I think,” she begins, “we met because one day, you got into a battle, and it was so bad that you were grievously injured. So I had to come and heal you.”  
      
    “Mm,” Loki says, closing his eyes to just listen to her voice. “So you saved me.”  
      
    “I did. And then I had to take care of you, much like I’m doing now, because your wounds were so severe. The Queen herself told me to watch over you.” Sigyn pauses a moment, thinking again. “And so we became close. And you found out I was more than a healer, that I had magical ability outside of healing magic. You took me on as your apprentice.”  
      
    Loki allows his mind to wander briefly at that, trying not to smile at the thought of him being her teacher. Oh, the things they could have gotten up to in Gladsheim’s library. Perhaps there was time for that later, before he dies.  
      
    “And so we grew closer still. Until one day, you tell me you love me. And I confess my feelings for you in return. And then we marry,” Sigyn says. “And live happily until we die.”  
      
    “How perfect,” Loki says. And maybe part of it is true. The only way they truly would have properly met is in the healing rooms. Princes and healers did not often mingle elsewhere.   
      
    Still, Loki can’t help thinking it wouldn’t have been like that at all. He would not have been so nice, he thinks, as to pay attention to a healer girl. Much less become friends with her. It would have been a grudging cooperation at best; he never dealt well with being confined to a sickbed.  
      
    Or maybe he would have been, if it had been Sigyn. There is no way to know now.   
      
    He thinks again of their children, the two boys he saw in his vision. One day, perhaps he’ll tell her of them. Perhaps he’ll tell her that they looked more like her than they did him, with curly black hair and her smile, but with his eyes.   
      
    Perhaps he’ll tell her that Odin’s spell would have extended to them as well, and they would not have appeared Jotun. The thought makes his heart heavy, how long the lie might have gone on had things not turned out so wrong. Odin may have said he would have told Loki eventually, but Loki knows that the Allfather would have only done so when he thought it strategically a good time. Or maybe never at all.   
      
    And so the lie would have continued, affecting not only him but his children as well.   
      
    Loki pushes that away, before his anger can grow. If there is one good thing to come out of all of this, he thinks, it’s that Odin no longer has the chance to ruin Sigyn’s children as he himself has been ruined. He will take comfort in that, however much he can.  
      
    “It would have been perfect,” Sigyn agrees. There’s silence before she props herself up on her elbow, looking at him. “How do you think we met?”  
      
    “I’m not sure,” Loki says, his voice thick with sleep. “Nothing I come up with can be better than yours, though, I think.”  
      
    “It’s not about being better,” Sigyn teases. “Just come up with something.”  
      
    Loki thinks about it for a long while. Usually, he’s capable of coming up with perfect stories in an instant, using his silvertongue to its best. But for this, he wants to think about it for a long while, make it good enough to entertain Sigyn.   
      
    “I think it happened much like this,” Loki says at last, and it feels like the truth. “I think one day I saw you and knew you had to be mine. Just like that. I knew that I’d loved you before I even met you, and when I finally did, I knew you were the only one I could have.”  
      
    Sigyn blinks down at him, taken aback, before blushing shyly. “That--that’s more fantastic than mine.”  
      
    “Perhaps so.”  
      
    “Really, though. The only one?” she asks. “Surely not.”  
      
    Loki waves that off. Of course he’s had other lovers before, but he hadn’t loved them. Not even close. He loved being physically close to them, but he had not loved them. He felt very little for them, when it was all said and done. There didn’t even need to be any trust involved in simply bedding someone, really.  
      
    The only one he’d come close to loving had been Glut, and while their affair had lasted longer than his other dalliances, it had still ended eventually. He had, perhaps, been a little upset about it, but not as much as he thinks he should have if he had well and truly loved her. He had never entertained ideas that they’d be married, though she was eligible enough for it, but it would not have been a bad marriage if he had.  
      
    Sigyn is different from all of them, in ways he cannot even begin to put into any words of the Nine Realms.   
      
    “You’re the only one who matters,” Loki says, and it’s the truth. “The others do not.”  
      
    Sigyn frowns slightly. “That’s being a little unkind to the ones you’ve been with, isn’t it?”  
      
    “They aren’t here to hear it. And they were under no impressions that I meant anything other than what took place on the bed. They used me as much as I used them.” Loki shrugs. “It’s how it goes.”  
      
    Sigyn’s frown deepens. “Still...”  
      
    Loki quickly seeks to change the subject. “And what of yourself? Have you never loved anyone?”  
      
    “No,” Sigyn says. “I mean, perhaps little crushes here and there, but no one I was ever truly serious about.” She smiles and shrugs as well. “My life has been rather boring up until now.”  
      
    “Tell me more,” Loki says.   
      
    “About?”  
      
    “About you,” he says, settling himself on his pillow again and closing his eyes. “I want to know.”  
      
    She’s silent for a moment before saying, “There’s really nothing to--”  
      
    “Sigyn.”  
      
    The tone of his voice stops her, and she fidgets slightly underneath his arm. Loki rubs her shoulder and upper arm, leaning down to kiss her forehead.   
      
    “I want to know,” he repeats quietly against her hair. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t push her, but he knows this is more her assuming she’s uninteresting than an actual reluctance to tell him anything. He wants to prove her wrong about that; she’s not uninteresting or boring or inconsequential. She is everything.  
      
    Sigyn’s quiet before taking a deep breath. “My mother’s a seamstress. A relatively successful one. My father is a low ranking Einherji. I’m their only child; my mother had difficulty carrying me and giving birth, and she lost a few babies before I came around.” She pauses, as if considering how to follow that up. “I sort of... always knew I had magic. When I was a baby, I used to break glass whenever I sneezed or got upset. I didn’t learn to control it until I was older.”  
      
    “You were self-taught?”  
      
    “I was. My parents didn’t like it, but... well, I love magic. I love what I can do with it.” She sighs. “I was taken in as an apprentice to Lady Eir when I was a bit older. I’ve been working as a healer ever since.” Sigyn laughs and looks up at him, though his eyes are still closed. “I told you, it’s boring.”  
      
    “It’s not,” Loki says, opening his eyes to glance down at her. “You’re not boring.”  
      
    “Compared to a prince of Asgard’s life, I’m certain that I am.”  
      
    “If I say you aren’t, then you aren’t.”  
      
    She laughs. “It doesn’t work like that.”  
      
    “It does.”  
      
    She falls silent and then pulls away from him, sitting up. The sudden lack of warmth hits him hard and he reaches out for her, intending to pull her back to him. “Sigyn?”  
      
    “How can you think so highly of me?” she asks quietly, her gaze on the floor.   
      
    _How can I not?_ Loki wonders. “Because you give me reason to.”  
      
    “ _How_?” Sigyn repeats, turning to look at him, and he sees the insecurity in her expression again.   
      
    “You would not believe me even if I said it,” Loki observes, and it’s true. He can sing her praises all day and night, but he cannot undo centuries of being told otherwise, of believing otherwise. Not overnight, at least. But, he acknowledges, that does not mean he shouldn’t at least try.  
      
    “I simply do not know what it is about me that makes you act like... this.”  
      
    “I’m a man of surprises, Sigyn, surely you’ve caught on to that by now,” Loki grins, sitting up and putting an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She leans into him, almost without realizing she’s doing it, and he savors the warmth radiating from her. Instead of being uncomfortable or even unbearable, it’s pleasant and comforting, and a firm reminder that she’s truly there. She’s not simply a figment of his imagination, for even his imagination has limits and he could not conjure up something as real as this.  
      
    “I suppose so,” Sigyn says.  
      
    Loki holds back a sigh and puts his other arm around her waist, encircling her. “You,” Loki says, brushing his lips against her ear, “are worthy of every praise I give you, and more.”  
      
    She’s quiet for a long time, the sound of their breathing the only thing breaking the silence. “Maybe one day I’ll understand,” she says at length, and her tone is doubtful.  
      
    “Perhaps so,” Loki says, kissing her neck. “And I will do my best to help you understand. Until then, stay with me and let’s not speak of this any longer.”      
   

* * *

      
    Sigyn stays the night with him, though they aren’t able to share his small bed. Instead she sleeps in her cot, and he lies awake staring at the ceiling again, seeing things in the shadows that may or may not be there and yearning for her warmth. Then he feels her sliding up to him and kissing his forehead, running her fingers through his hair, and he blinks groggily.  
      
    She smiles down at him. “You slept,” she says, and it takes him a moment to realize that he did in fact fall asleep at some point during the night, if the fatigue in his mind is any indication.  
      
    “I suppose I did,” Loki says, and he wonders when he became so comfortable in his prison that he was able to sleep at all.   
      
    “I’m glad. I did wonder, because... well, you obviously have nightmares, and there have been dark circles under your eyes for a while now.”  
      
    _There have been?_ Loki absently rubs at his face, realizing he hasn’t really looked at himself in a mirror for a good few days. He shaves, yes, but he doesn’t take himself in like he used to. Back when he cared about how he looked and the impression he made on people.   
      
    “I would have slept better had you been here,” Loki says, and Sigyn grins. It takes him aback, because he’s not used to seeing her grin like this, and that thought strikes him as incredibly sad a second later.  
      
    “Then I suggest you speak to the Allfather about giving you a better bed,” Sigyn says, kissing him properly before standing. “Come on, get up. I’ll get us some breakfast once I’m dressed.” She goes over to the chair and begins lifting up her nightdress, and Loki settles right back and watches. She notices his staring once her hem is over her knees, and she stops. “Yes?”  
      
    “Can I not enjoy the view?” Loki asks, barely keeping himself from smirking.  
      
    Sigyn blushes, then after a second nods and turns away again. She lifts her nightdress up, baring herself, and strangely enough the thing he focuses most on are two large freckles on her back. They’re soon covered by her hair, then her underdress as she slips it on, and he resists the urge to get up and go touch them. Once she’s dressed she braids her hair, then turns to him.  
      
    “You should get dressed,” she says, smiling at him shyly. “You can’t stay in bed all day.”  
      
    “I can,” Loki says, but gets up anyway. After a moment, he realizes she hasn’t left yet, and turns to see her staring at him. “Returning the favour, are we?”  
      
    “I think it’s only fair,” Sigyn says, her grin broadening. “Can I not enjoy the view as well?”  
      
    He laughs and does nothing to stop her. As he dresses, he thinks that maybe this is what it would have been like, their life before everything happened. Happily married, spending their days together doing everything and nothing, content in sharing a comfortable silence or practicing magic. It would have been nice. It _is_ nice, even if it leaves a slightly bitter taste in his mouth at the circumstances surrounding them now.  
      
    After he slips on his tunic and turns to look at Sigyn, she smiles shyly and blushes harder. He laughs, shaking his head, and Sigyn gives him an exasperated look. "Hush, you. We can't all be shameless." She goes over to the door, smiling at him. “Right then. Breakfast. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”   
      
    Sigyn pauses, looking at him, then comes back and leans up to kiss him. It’s simple and sweet, different from the hungry kisses they’d shared the day before, and Loki finds he enjoys it just as much.  
      
    It’s over far too soon and then Sigyn leaves. Loki stares at the door for a moment, then begins pacing, clasping his hands together behind his back as he does so. The times she’s gone, the room becomes so unbearably empty and silent. Without her presence to fill it and her voice to break the silence, Loki finds his chamber becomes much more like the prison cell it’s meant to be instead of the strange haven it’s become. It’s worse now that he’s had her to himself for two whole days.  
      
    When Sigyn comes back, he’s managed to settle himself at the table. Loki tries not to breathe a sigh of relief when she returns. He watches her as she sets everything, a small smile on her face, and he notes that this is one of the few times he’s seen her truly happy. She’s happy and showing it outwardly, for everyone to see.  
      
    _I did that_ , Loki realizes. _I’ve caused her to be like this. I caused that beautiful smile._  
      
    The realization makes him smile in turn and feel all too pleased with himself. Sigyn notices his smile and raises an eyebrow as she sets down his water.   
      
    “Thinking of something amusing?”  
      
    “Not quite,” Loki says, fingers brushing against the back of her hand as he reaches for his water. Her gaze flicks down briefly, then back up to his, and her smile grows a little.   
      
    She waits for him to explain, then playfully rolls her eyes when he doesn’t. “Keep your secrets, then,” she says. “I’ll find them out eventually.”  
      
    “Of that I have no doubt, dear Sigyn.”  
      
    She ducks her head shyly, her smile growing even more, before she sits down. Then she hesitates. “I--ah... I’ve sent for guards to help move everything out.”  
      
    It takes him a second to realize what she means, and when he does, he no longer tastes the soft, buttered bread in his mouth. He forces it down with a sip of water, then says, “Of course.”  
      
    Sigyn gives him an apologetic smile. “I had to. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay forever.”  
      
    “You could,” Loki says, his voice quiet. “You could stay forever. We could stay like this forever, and damn the rest of Asgard. Nothing else would matter but us.”  
      
    “That would be lovely,” Sigyn says softly. “But it can’t be reality.”  
      
    Loki licks his lips, thinking of something to say. “If you had the chance,” he begins, “would you leave Asgard and stay with me?”  
      
    Her brow raises slowly. “Are you asking me if I would run away with you? Maybe even elope?”  
      
    “However you like to put it.”  
      
    “Be clear, Loki. I cannot answer a question that isn’t properly clarified.”  
      
    “Yes,” Loki says. “Would you run away with me?” He avoids mention of elopement. Something in him rebels at the thought a little. Sigyn deserves to be wedded in a proper manner, with a dress and fit ornamentation, with everyone to see her as the Queen of Asgard that she is. Strangely enough, he does not imagine himself in that picture. All there is is Sigyn, the worlds bowing to her as they should, and her smiling at him as she takes her throne.  
      
    Or, if not wedded in a manner befitting a Queen, she deserves a little more than a basic elopement.   
      
    Sigyn breaks off a piece of bread and chews it slowly, watching him all the while, her expression ponderous. “Where would we go?”  
      
    “Is that a yes?”  
      
    “Not yet,” Sigyn says patiently. “Where would we go?”  
      
     “Vanaheim.”  
      
    Sigyn shakes her head. “Too much trade with Asgard, and too close. My parents would find us too easily.”  
      
    So even if he does not consider an elopement a viable option, Sigyn does. He decides he’ll keep that in mind and thinks their options through carefully, taking into consideration the problem of her parents and the Einherji. “Alfheim,” he says at last, and Sigyn considers it.  
      
    “Yes, perhaps. The Light Elves have no issue with us, and Asgard tends to leave it alone. And my parents would not venture so far.” She pauses. “Neither would Theoric, I suppose.” Before he can feel too proud of this, she continues. “And what would you do there?”  
      
    Loki frowns. “What do you mean?”  
      
    “I mean,” Sigyn says, “what would you do for work? If we’re running away, I assume it’s for a good long while. And you’re no longer considered a prince, so you wouldn’t have the privileges it afforded you before. There would be very few people willing to offer you a room to stay in for an extended time in their tavern, for example. You would have to find your own home to stay in, or even build one yourself. And then you need to have some way of getting money to pay for necessities, such as food. I could contribute by offering my services as a healer, but I would need help.”  
      
    “You are being irritatingly realistic about all of this,” Loki says, and realizes a second too late that he’s dangerously close to sulking.   
      
    Sigyn laughs quietly. “It’s what I do. I’m sorry.”  
      
    Loki’s silent, picking at his food, before saying, “Would you run away with me?”  
      
    Sigyn glances at him. “Yes,” she says at length. “I would. Only after we had thought everything through and knew what we were going to do. If we had a plan. But after all that, yes. I would run away with you, Loki.”  
      
    He takes her hand in his and kisses the back of it. “Thank you.”  
      
    “One more thing,” Sigyn says, “how would we leave? Heimdall wouldn’t let us pass through the Bifrost. Even if you were a prince and commanded him to.”  
      
    Loki smirks. “Dear Sigyn, there are ways out of Asgard that even Heimdall himself is blind to.”  
      
    She frowns, tilting her head to the side as she looks at him. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”  
      
    “Then let me tell you,” he says, ignoring the rest of his breakfast as he leans in to whisper the secrets of magic in her ear.      
   

* * *

      
    There exists only one map of the pathways between the worlds, and Loki happened to find it once a very long time ago in the archives, where he spent most of his time as a child. Along with that map came the way to open the pathways and travel through them. It took a long time, but once he learned it, he found it far easier than it should have been to open up a doorway, step through and end up in another realm.  
      
    Leave it to Loki to find things that were best left forgotten.   
      
    He used it at times when he needed to escape his family, or Asgard in general. Once he had loved his home world deeply, but sometimes it got a little too suffocating. He was not prone to staying in one place--still isn’t, really--and found he loved wandering the different worlds. He rarely ever came into contact with anyone, preferring instead to stay in the deserted areas or places with few residents. He liked to be by himself, because it allowed him to think and breathe.  
      
    Thor had been so jealous, when he’d found out what Loki could do. Loki savoured that jealousy for ages, because it was one of the few times Thor had been jealous of him instead of the other way around. Loki kept his other abilities secret, something of himself he didn’t have to share or compare with Thor, but that... that had been so sweet to hold over Thor’s head for a while. A way to finally say, “I’m better at something than you are, and look what I can do with it.”  
      
    If only the rest of Asgard held the same love for magic as Loki did.  
      
    --  
      
    “That’s amazing,” Sigyn says, expression full of wonder. “I never knew that could be done. And--you think I can do it?”  
      
    “Of course,” Loki says. “You’re powerful enough. You only need to memorize the spell and how to perform it before you do. And be careful.” Then he pauses, and adds, “And if you’re able, you should combine the spell with another. A spell to hide yourself. It will cloak you even from Heimdall’s gaze.”  
      
    Sigyn stares at him. “Is that possible?”  
      
    “It is. I’ve done it before.”  
      
    “Go on, tell me.”  
      
    When they’re finished, Sigyn sits back in her chair and laughs. “I never knew such things were possible.”  
      
    Loki smiles, remembering well the amazement he held for magic and the possibilities it brought him. “Many things are possible. You just need to find the book they’re in and learn them.”  
      
    “Easier said than done. Not all of us have access to the royal library,” Sigyn teases, throwing a piece of bread at him. He catches it and eats it, grinning.   
      
    “Perhaps in payment for taking care of me, the Allfather will allow you in. It’s the least he can do.”  
      
    Sigyn sits back in her chair, thinking that over. Their breakfast has gone cold, long since forgotten. After a second she seems to remember herself and looks down at their plates. “Oh,” she says, a note of regret slipping through. “I, um. I need to take these back. And then they’ll want me down in the healing rooms.” She trails off uncertainly, wringing her hands for a moment, then shakes her head and stands. “I’ll be back later, of course.”  
      
    Loki watches as she gathers everything up. He knew their time had to come to an end, but it still takes everything in him not to take her hand and ask her not to leave. He might even beg, if she pushes him to that point.   
      
     But he does not, and when Sigyn’s done gathering everything, she stays by the table for a long time. She clearly doesn’t want to leave either.   
      
    “Right then,” Sigyn says after a long while. She smiles at him again and he goes around the table and slips an arm around her waist, pulling her close.   
      
    “You’ll be back soon?”  
      
    “I will,” Sigyn says, leaning up to kiss him. They stay like that for as long as possible, then she reluctantly pulls away and picks up the plates. “For the midday meal, of course. And for dinner.”  
      
    Loki nods, watching her. She smiles at him, lingering, and then leaves. The sound of the door closing behind her and the lock being put into place sounds too loud in the silence that follows her, and then--  
      
    Then Loki is left alone. Again. Perhaps to some people it is not too long, but it is for him.   
      
    Nothing to be done for it, Loki thinks, and sets about diverting himself from her absence until her return. It is all he can do, anymore.      
   

* * *

      
    The days pass and they fall back into their usual routine. Sigyn comes three times a day and stays for as long as she’s able, and the rest of the time, Loki must content himself somehow. When he first came to the prison, it seemed as if the days went by faster, or perhaps he simply didn’t notice it as much. Now he notices everything, the slow crawl of time and the hours he must spend on his own, wandering around in his prison, unable to do anything but sleep or read the books Sigyn’s left him until she comes back.  
      
    It is far more maddening than it used to be.   
      
    Still, he treasures the time he spends with Sigyn, even if it’s far less than he’d like. She always stays for as long as she can, and for a while, they’re happy. Then Loki notices that she’s either late in coming--she always comes at a certain time throughout the day, and is rarely ever late--or she’s early in leaving. She starts to become more withdrawn, quiet, thinking to herself, though when she realizes he’s noticed this she smiles and tries to play it off.  
      
    Sigyn is hiding something, and it worries him.  
      
    One night, a rare time Sigyn was able to talk Lady Eir into letting her stay to observe him, Loki thinks to bring this up. Sigyn’s lying on her stomach and he’s tracing runes along her spine, her bare back warm underneath his fingertips. It would be a shame to break the comfortable silence between them and the closeness with something as irritating as this, but...  
      
    Well, worry grows into doubt and even jealousy very fast, it seems to him.   
      
    And besides, now Sigyn seems worried herself. She was quiet throughout dinner, more so than usual these days, and she kept picking at her skirt or wringing her hands. He waited for her to tell him herself, but then she distracted him quite successfully by kissing him and pulling him over to the bed. Now, though, he remembers that nervousness and knows he cannot simply wait for her to tell him.  
      
    “Sigyn?” he asks, tracing the rune for fire right at the base of her spine, then going back up and starting over.   
      
    She sighs deeply, content, before answering with a tired, “Mm?”  
      
    “Has something happened?”  
      
    She opens one eye and looks up at him. In the dim candelight, her brown eyes look black, and the freckles on her nose are lost in the shadows of the flickering fires. “How do you mean?”  
      
    “Has something happened outside of Asgard?” he asks, because he remembers that Thor was fighting the Dark Elves. Loki isn’t certain how much time has passed since Sigyn told him that, but he knows that it’s been long enough that if Thor’s still fighting them, then things aren’t going well. And if things aren’t going well, then that means more warriors are being sent to the healing rooms, taking up Sigyn’s time.  
      
    Sigyn hesitates, then shifts so she’s propped up on her elbows. Her hair falls over her back and he absently brushes it off to continue his tracing. “Yes. The Dark Elves--things are going badly.”  
      
    He can tell there’s something more she wants to say, and so he simply stays silent, waiting for her to say it. She messes with a corner of the thin pillow for a while, then carefully says, “Loki, I may have to leave.”  
      
    His fingers stop. “Leave?”  
      
    “Yes,” she says with a small nod. “Things are getting worse. Malekith is leading the Dark Elves into war. Prince Thor is doing his best, but...” she rubs her face and shakes her head. “It’s going so badly, Loki. Lady Eir has decided that a few of the healers--her, myself, and a handful of others--need to go out onto the battlefields to tend to the wounded there.”  
      
    “You can’t,” Loki says, pulling his hand away. “You can’t go.”  
      
    “I don’t have a choice,” Sigyn says blankly. “This is my job, Loki, and if Lady Eir decides that the wounded warriors are more important than tending to you, I can’t fight that.”  
      
    “You could be killed,” Loki says. He remembers well the fate of healers caught by the enemies on a battlefield. Loki hadn’t realized that Sigyn was of high enough status in the healers to be allowed out onto a war field. Although, if she was allowed to tend to a dangerous prisoner, he realizes he should have known. “You’ll be killed, Sigyn. The healers are always one of the first targets.”  
      
    “I’ve been to a battlefield before, Loki, I know what might happen,” Sigyn says, sounding irritated. “But I still have to go. I can’t disobey orders.”  
      
    “You could,” Loki insists, trying to keep the rising panic at bay. “Talk to Eir again. Tell her you’re more needed here. I need you, Sigyn, please,” he says, hating the plea in his voice. “You can’t go--”  
      
    He imagines it now, her out there on the sidelines, trying to avoid the battles and tend to the wounded left on the fields, and then, being caught by some Dark Elf and having her throat slit, the blood running down her neck and chest and staining her white robe and--  
      
    “Loki,” Sigyn says, and he tries to focus on her. “Loki, look at me. Loki!”  
      
    He feels her move and then both of her hands are on his face and she’s straddling him and he blindly reaches out and digs his fingers into her waist and then--  
      
    He focuses as Sigyn kisses him. The panic dims slightly, the terror receding, and his heart gradually slows down. When she pulls away, he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. She’s staring at him, her expression unreadable, and he feels like an idiot for letting himself fall back into that place he’s somehow crawled out of the past few weeks.   
      
    “Are you well?” Sigyn asks, studying him carefully.  
      
    All he can do is nod. It’s easier than saying anything, telling her no, he’s not all right.   
      
    There’s silence between them as Sigyn strokes his cheek, and then she rests against him, putting her head on his shoulder. He encircles his arms around her waist and holds her close, watches the fire on the candles dance in the air.   
      
    “When will you leave?” Loki asks, and he hates how resigned he sounds.  
      
    “As soon as possible. So tomorrow or the day after that.”  
      
    He takes another deep breath and nods once. “I see.”  
      
    “I will come back, Loki.”  
      
    He glances down at her. “You can’t promise that.”  
      
    “No,” Sigyn admits after an uneasy silence, “I can’t. But please believe me when I say I will do my best.”  
      
    He threads his fingers through her hair and kisses her head. “I know, Sigyn.”  
      
    She sits back up, hands running down his chest, making him shiver. “Please,” she says, “for now... let’s have this night. Help me forget about what’s coming.” She pauses, biting her bottom lip hard until Loki brushes his fingers against it and stops her. “I’m scared, Loki. I’m so scared.”  
      
    “I am, too,” he says quietly. The idea that this might be the last night he ever spends with her--it doesn’t bear thinking about. He puts his hand on the back of her neck and pulls her in, kissing her. “Forget about that for now, dearest. It can wait until morning. For now,” he says, moving to kiss her neck, “you’re mine.”      
  

* * *

      
    She leaves in the morning. She goes about her routine as slowly as possible, waiting until the last second to get out of bed. She stayed with him in the night, despite the small discomfort they had at trying to stay on the small bed. He didn’t dare ask her to leave, though, and she didn’t want to. They’re stiff when they wake up, but in his opinion, it was worth it.  
      
    He watches her from the bed now, every movement as she puts on her healer’s robe and washes her face and brushes her hair and braids it. Then she looks the room over, making sure there’s nothing he could use for whatever reason, and his heart sinks.   
      
    She’s acting as if this is the last time she’ll ever be in this room.  
      
    Finally she stands by the bed, unable to look him in the eye. “If I leave today, they’ll send someone else to start looking after you. They won’t watch you to the extent that I have,” she says. “They’ll give you your food and make sure you haven’t hurt yourself or any other such thing, and then they’ll leave.”  
      
    That suits him just fine. He doesn’t care to have anyone else but Sigyn doing all this, so the less time they’re here, the better.  
      
    Sigyn swallows hard, brushing hair out of her face, and then wrings her hands again. “I’m sorry, Loki.”  
      
    “Don’t be,” Loki says. “You did everything you could, of that I’m certain.”  
      
    She nods, but still looks guilty, so Loki sits up and pulls her over by the hand. He kisses her and tries to ignore the possibility it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to do that.   
      
    “You’ll be fine,” Loki says. “You’ll come back. Thor will save the day, as he always does, and then you’ll come back.”  
      
    She’s silent, then hugs him tightly and whispers in his ear, “I love you.”  
      
    “I love you too.”   
      
    They stay like that, and then she pulls away. Loki clenches his fists and sets them on his knees to keep from reaching out for her. “I should go,” she says. “It’s getting late, and--well. I should--”  
      
    “Go,” Loki says, wishing the numbness would come back. “Take care, Sigyn.”  
      
    “You as well, Loki. You’re important to me, too.”  
      
    It finds him well, being important to someone.  
      
    Sigyn takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, nodding to herself. He can almost see the mask slip back into place; she stops her tears and lets no expression through. She gathers the rest of her things, glances back at him once, and then--  
      
    And then she’s gone, and it is only him once again. Loki begins to resign himself to the fact that it may always be this way now, if she does not return.


	5. Part Five

Time passes strangely without Sigyn. Before, he had some measure of the days--she would come shortly after dawn in the morning, stay for an hour or hour and a half, then leave for three hours until the midday meal. She’d stay for an hour again, then have to leave for five until dinner. She was allowed two hours for that, and then she was gone until the next morning.  
     
    This new servant does not do that. He opens the door, slides the food in without bothering to make sure it doesn’t fall over, then pokes his head in to make certain Loki’s still alive. Then he leaves, taking the dirty plates and such out when he comes back for the next meal.  
     
    Once Loki took the tray and left it on the table, forcing the servant to actually enter. The expression on his face had been worth it, and Loki had watched him with a smug satisfaction as the servant came into the room, trying desperately not to look at him, and then scurried out. Loki did it again the next morning, just because he could, but the servant’s irritated and wary reactions soon lost their shine. Loki went back to leaving the tray by the door so the servant would not come in.  
     
    In a way, Loki prefers this routine. He’s relatively certain he would kill the servant if he had to deal with him for any length of time.  
     
    In another way, he hates it. He misses her, a powerful ache in his chest that only gets worse when he notices how empty the chamber around him is without her. The nights seem colder, the room not as bright during the day. It’s quiet. And Loki has long since grown disdainful of the quiet, because the quiet leads to thoughts he would rather never have again.  
     
    Mere days after Sigyn leaves, the nightmares return. Though perhaps it is not quite right to say they return, for that would mean that they had left at all. But they had grown more infrequent while Sigyn was around, and now that she’s gone, it goes back to what it was before she arrived. He dreams of Thanos, the Other, and the darkness he fell through, such a long long way, and then, worst of all, he dreams of Sigyn.  
  
    He dreams of her in a battlefield, captured, killed, tortured, or worse--taken by Thanos, a fate worse than death and he should know, shouldn’t he, and when he wakes up his throat is raw from screaming and he swears he can still feel her hot blood on his hands.  
     
    After a fortnight of this, Loki is tempted to escape his prison and find her. It would be easy. He’s already thought of ways he could escape from the room, past the guards, out of Gladsheim and Asgard entirely, and not even Heimdall would be able to stop him, and the yearning to see Sigyn again, to make certain she’s alive and well, is so strong that he’s tempted, but--  
     
    But Sigyn would be disappointed in him if he did, and besides that, Loki is as safe as he can get inside Gladsheim’s walls. Or so he hopes. Once he steps outside, who could say what would happen to him, or who would find him? Mostly, though, it is Sigyn who keeps him where he is.  
     
    She’s likely worried about me enough as it is, Loki thinks as he paces in his room. If I should run just to find her, I would only make things worse.  
     
    He does not entirely discount the idea of escaping, though. He merely sets it aside for the time being, albeit grudgingly.  
     
    But truly, all there is left to do is wait. And hope, but Loki is weary of hope; it has never done him any good, and he fears this time will be no different.     
 

* * *

     
    Frigga comes to visit him again one day, nearly a fortnight since Sigyn’s departure. She comes into the room carefully, as if she’s afraid he’ll snap at her like some feral animal. The servant that’s been tending him all this time stands behind her uncertainly.  
  
    Loki notes that no guards come in, though; it means his mother still trusts him in a way. Trusts him not to hurt her, at least. Loki is not certain how to respond to this at all. He supposes it should make him happy, but instead he feels nothing.  
     
    She sends the servant away, and he leaves after a moment’s hesitation. An awkward silence fills the room once the door closes behind her, and Loki glances at her briefly before looking away again, out the window.  
     
    “What do you want?” he asks, his voice scratchy from his nightly screaming.  
     
    “I’m worried about you,” Frigga says. He hears her walk over to something and stop, and when he glances out of the corner of his eye, he sees her pick up Sigyn’s silver hair ornament. She had left it behind by accident the night after her name day celebration, and he had taken and hidden it. He’d left it out the night before and hadn’t put it away, a mistake he was regretting now. Loki wants to take it out of Frigga’s hands, but doesn’t move. “Is this hers?”  
     
    “Whose?”  
     
    “The healer’s. Sigyn.”  
     
    Loki stares at Frigga blankly. “What does it matter if it is?”  
     
    Frigga stays silent, leaving Loki to wonder what she came here for. Not for his pleasant conversation, surely. “You shouldn’t depend so much on her, Loki,” Frigga says at length, her voice quiet.  
     
    “I don’t depend on anyone.” Loki turns to look at her then, realizing he’s coming off as too defensive. Frigga has no place to be talking to him about anything concerning Sigyn, though. She is no longer his mother and therefore has lost any right to treat him as her son that she must advise and warn.  
     
    Frigga gives him a knowing look and sets the hair piece down. “You were improving while she was here, and now that she’s gone, the guards tell me you scream at night again. The girl also told me that you were making small improvements, and it all seems to have come undone when she left for the battlefields. It isn’t hard to see the reason.”  
     
    His fingers twitch and he fights off the urge to begin pacing. “She means nothing to me.”  
     
    “She means too much to you,” Frigga counters. “Don’t make her your only hold on your sanity, Loki, or your health.”  
     
    “And here I thought you would be happy for any kind of change.”  
     
    Frigga sighs, and for a moment Loki sees the burden she’s carrying on her shoulders. She looks older, he realizes suddenly, or acts older. Sorrow has left its mark on her, and deeply.  
     
    _Sorrow leaves its marks on us all_ , Loki thinks, and tries to convince himself he does not care.  
     
    “This is not the change I hoped for.” Frigga sits down then, in Sigyn’s chair, and Loki feels himself bristle. “And what should happen if she’s killed during the war?”  
     
    “Don’t--”  
     
    “What if she never returns except as one of the many bodies that will have left Asgard alive and come back dead, Loki? What if her family must burn her, and you are left alone again?” Frigga does not flinch away from his stare. “What do you do then?”  
     
    Loki cannot answer. Her words have struck too deep and the fear they bring about is too strong to think through. She’s giving voice to everything that’s kept him up these past countless nights, and he hates her for it.  
     
    “What do you want?” Loki asks again when he manages to quell his fear.  
     
    “I want you happy,” Frigga says. “And if I can’t have that, then I want you in a better state than what you’re in now. Please, Loki. If she dies, do not think you must follow her into death.”  
     
    _But I would,_ Loki thinks. _Can’t you see that, mother? A life without Sigyn is not a life at all. She’s all I have left._  
     
    “If she comes back,” he says, “you won’t allow her to see me again. Will you?”  
     
    He knows the answer already, but it still hurts when Frigga shakes her head. “No, my son.”  
     
    “I am not your son,” Loki says. “Get out. _Get out_!”  
     
    Frigga doesn’t react to his screaming past a small wince, but she obeys nonetheless. Before she leaves, she casts him another sad look, and then the door closes behind her and Loki is, once again, alone. The thought that this may once again be a permanent state of being causes him to fall to the floor, trembling. He does not move for a long time, not even when the servant brings in his food.  
     
    _I can’t lose her. I can’t._      
 

* * *

     
    Time stretches on and, with it, Loki’s hope of Sigyn returning dwindles with each passing day. The nightmares grow worse, to the point where he begins to forgo sleep as much as possible, and his frame grows gaunt from refusal to eat his food.  
     
    He knows that, were Sigyn to see him now, she’d be disappointed and hurt and worried, but she’ll never see him like this, so what does it matter?  
     
    One day, on a damnably bright sunny morning, he’s staring out the window yet again when he hears the lock on his door coming undone. The servant has already been by for breakfast, so unless more time has passed than Loki realized, it’s another visitor. Likely Frigga again, so he does not bother to turn around when the door opens.  
     
    Instead he keeps his gaze to the horizon, hoping against hope that he may see Sigyn returning somehow, though from here she’d only be a speck on the landscape, if that. He hears someone walk into the room, and vaguely realizes that the footfalls are too heavy and loud to be a woman’s, and he has time enough for realization to sink in when--  
     
    “Loki.”  
     
    He tenses. He can’t help it. Every part of him goes still, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the window. He hates that just the sound of that voice can inspire a certain kind of fear in him. “Go away,” Loki says, his voice barely a whisper.     
     
    “It is time we talked, Loki,” Odin Allfather says, and Loki bites back a strange urge to laugh.  
     
    _Of all the times we could have talked and you chose not to, of course now you do_ , Loki thinks. _Never mind when I wanted to talk to you, no, that didn’t matter. But when you want to talk to me? Of course, that’s of the utmost importance._  
     
    “I’ve no wish to talk to you,” Loki says. “There’s nothing to talk about.”  
     
    “There is,” Odin says. “All this time, and you’re still trying to push me away?”  
     
    “I’m not the one who did the pushing.”  
     
    There’s barely a reaction from Odin. “I’ve made mistakes,” he says. “I won’t deny that any longer. But so have you.”  
     
    Loki clenches his fists, staring at Odin in shock. “Me? I tried. I came to you as a child, wanting to share my spells with you, and you were always disinterested. You always favoured Thor and his battles. Do not lay this on me, Allfather.” Loki begins to pace, unable to stay still any longer. “Everything I’ve done--everything I’ve always done--it’s been for you. And you gave it the barest of notice. I only wanted--”  
     
    _I only wanted to make you proud_ , he almost says. But his voice cracks, and the hatred he feels for the man in front of him intensifies. How can Odin still bring out this damned child in him? He’s no child, he hasn’t been for a long time. He is the destroyer of Jotunheim, the one who fell through the stars and made it out alive, a king betrayed and a king who made the wasteland that was Midgard his playground for a few short days.  
     
    He is not a child, and Odin would have been smart to see that.  
     
    Odin studies him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. It’s the same look that has always unnerved Loki; in the face of it, his rage calms just briefly, only to flare up again. How dare he stay so calm right now. “If you hate us so much,” Odin says, his voice soft, “then why did you attack Midgard to come back?”  
     
    “I didn’t attack Midgard for you to rescue me as if I’m some lost child,” Loki says. “I attacked Midgard to claim my throne.”  
     
    “I may have believed you, a while ago,” Odin says. “But it doesn’t take much to see the holes in your plan.”  
     
    Loki stands there, fuming, no words coming to his mind to rebuke Odin. The Allfather takes that as a sign to continue, so he does. “Thor said that you seemed strange, when he was able to talk to you. He knows as well as I do how able you are in battle. But he said it was as if you were not really trying--or worse, that you couldn’t do anything other than what you were.”  
     
    Loki feels the tension returning, tightening between his shoulder blades. “What does he know of it? He’s always considered himself the better warrior.”  
     
    Odin gives him a look, and even Loki has to admit it wasn’t his better attempt at a lie. “With the army you had at your back, there’s very little reason why you wouldn’t have been able to claim Midgard for your own.”  
     
    “So you would think,” Loki says evenly. “And yet here we are. A king defeated and locked away by the family who once professed to love him.”  
     
    “We still do,” Odin says. “That never changed.”  
     
    _Yes it did,_ Loki thinks, _just as my love for you changed in turn_.  
     
    “Is there a point to this,” Loki says, “or have you merely come to bore me with your excuses?”  
     
    “There’s a point,” Odin says. “The girl. The healer who’s been sent to take care of you.”  
     
    “Sigyn,” Loki says slowly, uneasy now that Odin has brought her into the conversation.  
     
    “Sigyn,” he says, and Loki hates the sound of her name coming from Odin. “You’re aware that she was meant to give your mother and myself daily reports on how you were doing?”  
     
    “Yes,” Loki lies immediately, when in truth he hadn’t known that at all. Of course now that it’s been pointed out to him, he should have realized, but he is not going to admit that to Odin.  
     
    “She told us of your nightmares,” Odin says. “How you would mutter words in your sleep, or beg someone to stop.”  
     
    _No_ , Loki thinks as a shudder of terror goes through him. _No, they can’t know, they can’t_ \--  
     
    “And with Thor’s story of your condition on Midgard in addition to Sigyn’s tales of your mental state, we all began to wonder if something hadn’t happened to you.”  
     
    “Nothing happened to me--”  
     
    “Loki,” his father says, and Loki falls silent immediately. “You were taken by Thanos.”  
     
    He recoils from the name, from Odin, and feels the wall against his back. He wishes he could fall through it, leave this room, leave this damned man behind, but he’s trapped. “I don’t--”  
     
    “You were taken by Thanos, and he did with you what he wished,” Odin continues calmly. “Somehow you came to make an agreement with him, an alliance; his army to help you conquer Midgard, and in return, he receives the Tesseract.”  
     
    Loki stays silent, all too aware of how his hands tremble and how he can’t seem to take a breath.  
     
    Odin takes his silence for what it is: Agreement. Nodding shortly, Odin takes a few steps forward, but stops when he sees Loki wince.  
     
    “What do you want?” Loki asks, wanting him gone.  
     
    “We--” Odin begins, then stops. “I want you home, Loki. We all do.”  
     
    “I have no home,” Loki says blankly. “I don’t _want_ your home, Allfather.”  
     
    There’s a silence, and then Odin clasps his hands behind his back and regards Loki coolly. “Do you wonder why we never put you into the dungeon?”  
     
    Loki gives a half hearted shrug, disinterested. “I assumed it was the Queen’s idea. The decision seemed to come from a rather motherly affection.”  
     
    “It was a test,” Odin says. “We knew that if you wanted to leave, the dungeons themselves would not be able to stop you. But we wondered if you would take the chance when it was offered to you, so we put you into a place you could leave whenever you wished. And you did not.”  
     
    Loki stares at Odin for several beats, uncomprehending at first. Then he realizes.  
     
    “You tricked me,” Loki says.  
     
    “We tested you,” Odin corrects, “and we found what we were looking for.”  
     
    This, he realizes, is why he wanted to leave Asgard in the first place. In his family, nothing is simple. It’s all twists and turns and labyrinths and having to prove one thing or another and having to bend over backwards to do it, and Loki is as sick of it now as he always was, even when he became a master at playing everyone else. How he longed for Asgard when he was a prisoner; now that he is back, he cannot imagine why he ever wanted to return.  
     
    It is a mistake he will not ever make again.  
     
    “You’re running from Thanos, and you’ve come to the place you think will offer you the best protection,” Odin continues. “You don’t wish to leave.”  
     
    _I do_ , Loki thinks. _I do, oh, I do_.  
     
    “Very good,” Loki says, barely keeping the venom out of his voice. “And what will you do with me now? Keep me locked up, knowing you have me just as you want me, a trained dog who will cower and obey you?”  
     
    “No,” Odin says. “I was not lying when I said we wanted you back, Loki.”  
     
   _Ah_ , Loki thinks, _but do I want you back? No, not at all. The one I want--the one I_ need _\--is far from here, and will likely die before this is all over._  
     
    A thought comes to Loki then, and he fixes Odin with a cold look. “Why come to me now, when I’ve been here for weeks?” Odin doesn’t answer, and Loki smiles grimly. “You’re going to join Thor in the war with Malekith.”  
     
    “It’s grown desperate,” is all he says in reply.  
     
    It must have, for Odin to leave Asgard and fight with his soldiers once again. Something like that hadn’t happened in centuries.  
     
    “And you were feeling a little guilty about leaving your _beloved_ second son here without saying goodbye,” Loki says. “How sweet of you. Save your words, I care nothing for them.”  
     
    Odin merely stares at him, as if he’s waiting for something. Loki returns his gaze, projecting a calm he does not feel at all. _I’m missing something_ , Loki realizes as he narrows his eyes. _There’s a piece here I’m missing, I’m forgetting, what is it... he wouldn’t come here to say goodbye, it’s too sentimental for him, and he wouldn’t come here just to tell me this was all a trick, a test. What is it?_  
     
    He realizes a second later, and laughs. _Of course_.  
     
    “This is another test,” Loki says. “You wanted me to know you’re leaving. Because--”  
     
    “It would give you an opportunity to leave,” Odin says. “And I came to say goodbye.”  
     
    “We both know you’re not in the habit of giving long goodbyes,” Loki says. “Especially not to me.” Loki steps closer, making certain Odin sees the malice in every movement, in his expression. “You’ve accomplished what you came for. You should go and rest before the battle, Allfather. You look a little _weary_.”  
     
    Odin says nothing, and Loki smiles. _Yes, Father,_ he thinks. _See what I’ve become? See what you’ve turned me into? How_ proud _you must be now._  
     
    “I hope,” Odin says at length, “that your Sigyn never makes a mistake against you as we have.”  
     
    “Sigyn is far better than any of you,” Loki hisses, infuriated that Odin would think such a thing. “She would not do what you have done.”  
     
    “I hope not, for her sake.”  
     
    “Get out.”  
     
    Odin stands there for a moment, just to prove that Loki cannot order him to do anything, before turning and leaving. Loki watches him go, and when the door closes he turns back to the window.  
     
    A test, indeed. He knows which way Odin wants--expects--it to fall. When the Allfather returns to Asgard, he thinks he will find Loki still locked away, proving that he wants the safety of Asgard’s walls more than anything. Proving that he will not run away again.  
     
    _And I did_ , Loki thinks. _I wanted this safety_.   
     
    But he does not want his family’s love anymore, and now his concern for Sigyn is worse. If Odin was leaving to join the fight, things are dire, and that meant she was in greater danger. He will not, can not, stand by and hide in Gladsheim while she risks her life.  
     
    It was time to say goodbye to Asgard once again.     
  

* * *

     
    The sight of her after so many weeks apart is enough to take his breath away. There’s dried blood on her healer’s dress and fresh blood on her hands, her hair is falling out of its braid and there’s mud caked on the hem of her gown. There’s dirt smeared on her face and sweat runs down her forehead.  
     
    She’s still beautiful to him, even with all that.  
     
    Sigyn walks into the long, thin vehicles that line the latest battlefield, her boots sinking into the mud. She favours her left leg slightly, and it’s ridiculous how much that tiny detail terrifies him. Loki follows her, ignoring the various SHIELD agents that are combing through the area. After a moment, Sigyn hears the squelching of his own boots and turns to look at him.  
     
    “Yes?” she asks, and he can hear the effort in her voice to not sound as tired as she must feel.  
     
    “I require healing, my lady.”  
     
    Sigyn stills, and he allows himself a smile. He had changed his form, it’s true, though he’s quickly losing the energy to keep it up. But he did not change his voice. When she saw him again, Loki wanted her to know it was him. She would know him from his voice alone, having heard it so much, in her ear, whispering, gasping her name and screaming in his sleep.  
     
    “Please,” he says, “may we go somewhere in private?”  
     
    She recovers from her shock and, to her credit, she doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching. Such a thing would have given them away entirely. She merely nods and motions for him to follow her, which he gladly does. He catches up to her, arm brushing against hers, and a tension leaves him from that simple touch. They enter one of the long vehicles and the smell of the healing rooms washes over him, herbs and blood mingling together. Sigyn closes the door behind them both, locking it, and Loki glances around once to make certain they’re alone.  
     
    He ends his spell, and soon his Einherji armor goes back to his simple tunic and breeches, and his blonde hair turns black again. Loki turns to smile at Sigyn, then stops when he sees her expression.  
     
    “What,” Sigyn says, “in the Nine are you thinking?”  
     
    Loki knew she would be angry. He’d just hoped that she’d kiss him first before yelling at him.  
     
    “I came to see you,” Loki says. “Sigyn, I was worried.”  
     
    Sigyn pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs deeply. “Loki, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”  
     
    He takes a step towards her, hand outreached for her. “Dearest, let me explain.”  
     
    She eyes him, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing his hand. That stings, and he lets his hand fall back to his side limply.  
     
    “Hold on a moment,” she finally says and takes off the light healer’s armor she’s wearing. Her outer dress follows shortly, as do her boots, leaving her in nothing but her thick underdress.  
     
    Sigyn goes over to a shining, silver basin embedded in a waist high table that connects to the wall. She turns a knob and water comes out, and she washes her hands of the blood and mud. When she’s done, she nods to him and sits down, wincing as she does. He narrows his eyes but follows her when she motions for him to sit down next to her.  
     
    He presses close to her, hesitantly putting an arm around her shoulders, unsure if she will refuse him. Sigyn sighs deeply, closing her eyes, then leans into him. Loki kisses the top of her head, not caring if it’s wet and muddy. She accepts his hold, and Loki feels his worries lessen slightly. If she accepted it, that meant she was not so angry at him now that she didn’t still love him, or that her feelings hadn’t faded since their last meeting.  
     
    He doesn’t wish to speak and ruin this moment. He simply wants to sit here with her, soaking in her presence and the silence, give her a moment of respite after the long battle. But speak he must, and so he does.  
     
    “It was a trick,” Loki says softly. “Everything. The Allfather put me in that room--”  
     
    “To see if you’d escape,” Sigyn finishes for him, and he stares at her. “I know. They told me when they tasked me with your care. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”  
     
    “You should have,” Loki says, trying not to feel betrayed and failing. “Why didn’t you?”  
     
    Sigyn’s silent, looking up at him, before speaking. “I was told not to, and with everything else I had broken and made a mess of... well, it seemed the least I could do to stay true to that. And,” she continues, leaning up to kiss his jawline, making him shiver. “I wanted you safe. I thought that if you knew you could leave, you would.” She pauses, then adds, “I was selfish. I wanted you to stay. With me, I mean, where I could see you every day.”  
     
    It is the last confession that makes Loki soften a tad. He understands selfishness, and to hear Sigyn confess some sort of selfish thought was rare. The fact that he was the cause of it makes it better, somehow. “We could have run away together.”  
     
    “And not gotten far,” Sigyn counters, and he has to admit she’s right. She sighs and shifts, putting a rough hand on his cheek and pulling him down into a soft kiss. “Do you forgive me?” she asks when the kiss ends.  
     
    _I hope she never makes a mistake against you as we have_.  
     
    _He’s wrong_ , Loki thinks. _She’s not like them_.  
     
    “I do,” Loki says, meaning every word. “I do, dearest Sigyn.”  
     
    She relaxes, and it occurs to him then that she was just as terrified of him leaving her as he was of her not loving him anymore. He kisses her again, the things they were talking about suddenly unimportant, until Sigyn pulls away.  
     
    “So you ran away because you found out it was all a trick,” Sigyn says, her gaze questioning.  
     
    Loki glances away. “More or less.”  
     
    “Dearest.”  
     
    He breaks under the use of the endearment. “Odin found out about... other things. What happened to me after I left Asgard.”  
     
    Sigyn pulls away to meet his gaze. “And what did happen?”  
     
    It takes him a second to gather the courage to answer her. Somehow, he fears her judgment more than he fears Odin’s now. “I tried to kill myself and failed.” He feels Sigyn stiffen under his hand, and gives her shoulder a small squeeze to comfort her, though the tale he has to share isn’t the least bit comforting. “I fell through the Realms, and eventually ended up outside of them. Where I was found by--”  
     
    He pauses and shifts uncomfortably. Just the name brings up a kind of terror in him, and he does not want Sigyn to know of Thanos. He does not want her to know what kind of creature might come after her, if Thanos should ever find out about Loki’s connection to her.  
     
    But he cannot lie to her, either.  
     
    “I was found by a being named Thanos, and the Other,” Loki says quietly. “They--they tortured me. At first, I didn’t bend to their will. I was done working for the use of others, but eventually they _persuaded_ me to see the benefits of striking up an alliance with them.”  
     
    Sigyn pulls away from him then. “You agreed to help them so you could get away from them,” she says quickly, and he stares at her. “Isn’t... that’s right, isn’t it?”  
     
    “Do you hope it is?” Loki asks blankly. “Do you hope that I only joined with them so I could find some means of escaping their torture? Would that make it easier for you to love me, instead of knowing what I’m willing to do for power?”  
     
    “Loki,” she says harshly, frowning. “I’ve told you before, I know what you’re capable of. I know who you are. If I haven’t turned away yet, what makes you think that I will?”  
     
    _Because I’m me_ , Loki thinks, _and everyone leaves eventually_.  
     
    “You’re right,” is all he says instead, however. “I’m sorry. And you aren’t wrong, about why I did what I did. I wanted away from them, it’s true. But if I also happened to succeed in my attempt to take over Midgard...” Loki shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been upset about that, either.”  
     
    “You would have been a pawn king,” Sigyn says bluntly. “Thanos would never have given up his power over you, not when you ruled Midgard.”  
     
    “I know,” Loki says, and yet he thinks maybe it would have worked out for the better. He wanted Midgard for his own--well, no. Not Midgard specifically, the sad little insignificant Realm that it is. He wanted the power and a place he could call his own. Thor had Asgard; why, then, could Loki not have Midgard?  
     
    “So you escaped,” Sigyn says slowly. “And came to Midgard, where you found the Tesseract.”  
     
    “And saw you,” Loki says with a small smile. “Yes.”  
     
    “Then you came to Asgard,” Sigyn says, and he isn’t sure if he loves or hates that she doesn’t mention how he was transported to Asgard. She leans against him again, her head on his shoulder. “And you found me.”  
     
    “You found me, rather,” Loki says. “And now here we are.”  
     
    Sigyn’s silent for a long while, so long he begins to think she’s fallen asleep against him. Then she speaks up. “You need to go back to Asgard, Loki.”  
     
    He starts. “What?”  
     
    Sigyn pulls away, out of his arms, her expression gravely serious. “You need to go back to Asgard. I know--I know what I’m asking of you, but please. Thanos is coming after you, isn’t he? Or he will, one day. You can’t stay here on Midgard where you’re unprotected. Asgard is your best chance to stay safe.”  
     
    “I refuse to go back there,” Loki says. “Not while the Allfather and his family are there as well.”  
     
    Sigyn runs a hand over her face, shaking her head. “I know that, in the beginning, I said they still loved you and that maybe there was hope for things to get better. I do believe they love you, but... I realize now that maybe you are better off without them. I think both of us are better away from Asgard. It’s an unkind place to us, isn’t it?” She hugs herself tightly, and Loki pulls her back into his arms.  
     
    “Then why are you asking me to go back?”  
     
    “Because,” Sigyn says, her voice rising. “You’ll be safe there, or as safe as you can be with Thanos looking for you. One day he will cross over into the Nine Realms, and when he does he’ll be looking for you. I can’t--I can’t lose you, Loki. Do you understand that? _I can’t lose you_.”  
     
    He runs a hand over her hair, letting the words sink in, etch themselves into his bones. “I can’t lose you either,” he says at length. “Frigga has said that if you return to Asgard, she will no longer allow you to tend to me.” He studies her expression at the news, and loves the anger he sees in her. She does not want to leave him either. “Come back to Asgard with me.”  
     
    They could make it work somehow, Loki decides. Frigga could hang her orders; the Allfather himself could not turn him away from Sigyn. They would have to accept them together or not at all, and Loki thinks that he could work that to his advantage. They both do not want to lose him again, and neither does Thor. That makes for very easy bargaining.  
     
    When Sigyn doesn’t respond, Loki pushes it further. “Thanos will look for you as well, if he ever finds out about you. I would rather have you beside me than somewhere else, somewhere I can’t see you and make certain you’re safe. I’ll go back to Asgard before you and do something so you can convince Eir that I still need you, more than the warriors do.”  
     
    “Loki,” she sighs, looking exhausted. “You can’t.”  
     
    “I will,” Loki says, kissing her forehead. “You could die out here, Sigyn. I can’t let that happen.”  
     
    “No, I mean...” Sigyn runs a hand through her hair, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. The weariness in it makes Loki stop and take her in, slowly realizing that something’s wrong.  
     
    “What is it?” he asks, pulling her close. “Sigyn, what’s wrong? Is it the Einherji? If it is--”  
     
    “It’s not Theoric,” Sigyn says quietly. “It’s--” She stands suddenly, rubbing her face, and begins pacing. “I can’t go back to Asgard. I can never go back to Asgard.”  
     
    He stares at her, uncomprehending. She paces a few seconds longer, her gaze on the floor, before finally he reaches out to take hold of her wrist.  
     
    “Tell me what’s wrong,” Loki says. “ _Tell me_.”  
     
    Sigyn meets his gaze, her eyes tearing up. The tension in the room becomes unbearable, and Loki’s fears begin to get the better of him; what wasn’t she telling him, why wasn’t she telling him, is this where she ends it all and he’ll never see her again, _what what what_ \--  
     
    Taking a deep breath as if to steady herself, Sigyn puts his hand on her abdomen, her gaze never leaving his. It takes him a second, and then he realizes.  
     
    Two beautiful boys, laughing and running through a field while their parents looked on, smiling.  
     
    _What have I done?_ he wonders as he rests his forehead against her stomach, trembling. After a second, Sigyn puts her free arm around his shoulders, and he takes his hand from her abdomen to wrap his arms around her waist, clinging to her. She runs her fingers through his hair, holding him there.  
     
    They stay like that for he doesn’t even know how long--ages, for all he cares. Too many emotions flood through him; terror, elation, anger, despair, but mostly it’s the terror that makes his hands shake and his breath come in ragged. But the thing that terrifies him the most is the small spark of hope he begins to feel, underneath everything else.  
     
    Perhaps what the Tesseract showed him was not an erased future, after all. Maybe there was still a chance for things to turn out right.  
     
    Finally, Loki finds his voice. “How long?”  
     
    “A little over a month,” she says quietly, still running her fingers through his hair. “The night before I left, I suppose. I can’t be certain. The sickness set in a few days ago, and my blood didn’t come. I thought I was merely late due to the stress of the war, but then I checked, and...”  
     
    She can’t bring herself to say it, so he does it for her. “And you’re pregnant.”  
     
    Sigyn doesn’t cringe or wince at the words, which he takes to be a good sign. “I am.”  
     
    “I thought... you were taking something to keep from--”  
     
    “I was,” Sigyn says, sighing and sitting down next to him again. She rests her chin on his shoulder, interlacing their fingers together. “I must not have mixed it right, or used the wrong measurements, or--or something, I don’t know.”  
     
    He kisses her forehead, wishing he could comfort her. But even he can see that this isn’t ideal, no matter the hope he’s begun to feel again. A woman becoming pregnant outside of marriage was not looked kindly upon, and worse, Sigyn is pregnant with his child. A woman willingly having sex with the monster that tried to usurp the throne and then attacked Midgard was going to be hated deeply, her child even more so.  
     
    The fact that the child would be half-Jotunn and half-Aesir? Loki could imagine no worse fate to hand him. The child would be seen as a monster, just like the father, and if he happened to turn up dead one day, Loki would not be surprised in the least.  
     
    He sees why Sigyn cannot return to Asgard now. There would be no disguising the baby; only Odin had that power, Loki thought bitterly. Sigyn could not marry Theoric quickly and claim the child as his. The blue skin and red eyes would give that lie away immediately on the birthing bed. She would have to hide, somewhere.  
     
    Or, Loki realizes, there was another option.  
     
    “Sigyn,” he says at length, “if you--if you don’t wish to have this child, I would understand.”  
     
    There’s silence before Sigyn shakes her head. “I should. I know I should, but I--I don’t know. Every time I consider it, I don’t go through with it. Does that make me an idiot?”  
     
    “No, love,” Loki says. “It sounds to me as if you already have another plan.”  
     
    Sigyn gives him a sidelong glance. “I do, sort of,” she says quietly, running a finger over the veins in his wrist. “If I could find some place to stay, some place safe, I would have the child. I would have to desert my role here, if the war continues much longer, but I can continue being a healer wherever I settle down. When my family learns what’s happened, they’ll be all too happy to disown me. Theoric...”  
     
    Loki tenses, and Sigyn nuzzles his cheek.  
     
    “I can handle Theoric,” she says, breath warm on his skin. “I’ll end the engagement, and I’ll tell him--I don’t know what I’ll tell him. But he won’t pursue me afterwards.”  
     
    _Or I could kill him_ , Loki thinks. But he trusts Sigyn; if she says she’ll handle it and that Theoric will never bother her again afterwards, then that’s how it will be. If not, Loki can take care of it himself.  
     
    “And I’ll come with you,” Loki says, leaning in to kiss her.  
     
    She pulls away and frowns, looking regretful. “You need to stay in Asgard.”  
     
    “No,” Loki says stubbornly. “I need to stay with you.”  
     
    “You don’t need me,” Sigyn says. “You shouldn’t need me, anyway. You need to start handling things on your own. I won’t always be there--”  
     
    “Stop,” Loki says, his voice hushed. “Don’t say that. I do need you, Sigyn, and you need me. Perhaps not to the extent that I need you, but you do.”  
     
    Her silence is answer enough. She does need him, as he knew she did, and if he could just get her to see that they should stay together...  
     
    “You’re safer in Asgard,” Sigyn says. “In Gladsheim. Wherever I go, you will not be safe from him.”  
     
    “That doesn’t matter,” Loki lies, because of course it does matter. He wants to be safe from Thanos, but he also wants Sigyn by his side so she’ll be safe as well. “You can live in Gladsheim. I don’t care what Frigga orders, she’ll not keep you from me. You’ll be safe there.”  
     
    “And the child?” Sigyn asks, and Loki finds he cannot say anything. He’s so focused on getting her to stay with him that, honestly, he hadn’t considered what to do about the child. “Would the Allfather protect a half-blood bastard?”  
     
    Loki pauses, considering her words. “What if the child wasn’t a bastard?”  
     
    Sigyn pulls away from him, her expression stunned. “What?”  
     
    “What if,” Loki repeats slowly, “the child wasn’t a bastard?”  
     
    “And where would we find someone to conduct a wedding _here_?” Sigyn asks, half incredulous.  
     
    “We don’t need anyone,” Loki says, realizing suddenly she might not agree to this plan. “We can do it ourselves.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at him, uncomprehending, until realization dawns. “Would they recognize that as a marriage?”  
     
    “They would recognize it as the unbreakable bond that it is,” Loki says. “They’d have no choice but to accept it. If they wanted to conduct another wedding in secret, even better. But it means the child would be acknowledged as my son and given the protection of the Allfather, and be considered a Prince of Asgard. You would be a princess, sweet Sigyn, and we’d both be safe in Gladsheim.”  
     
    Sigyn messes with the skirt of her dress, a nervous habit familiar to him by now. “I don’t know,” she says after a pause. “I’m tired of saying that, but it’s true. Would it really work?”  
     
    “If not,” Loki says with a shrug, “then I’ll follow you wherever you go, and we’ll be married. If we stay away from Midgard, we’ll be safe from Thanos whenever he arrives here. It won’t be soon, we have time to plan.”  
     
    Sigyn gives him a long look before a smile begins to form, her brown eyes lighting up with hope and love and happiness. “You want to marry me?”  
     
    “I do,” Loki says, kissing her. “If you’ll have me.”  
     
    “Oh, hush,” Sigyn says with a quiet, teary laugh, “of course I’ll have you, you impossible man. When can we do this?”  
     
    “Tonight,” Loki says. “As soon as possible. Can you find some place secluded for us to go?”  
     
    “I can,” Sigyn nods, kissing him again. “Just give me some time to talk to Lady Eir and get things settled. I should go now, while the fighting is done.”  
     
    Reluctantly, he lets her stand up and put her armor back on, just in case. Then, with one last smile, Sigyn is out the door. Loki leans back and smiles to himself, an unfamiliar happiness taking hold of him. Soon, Sigyn would be his. Soon, their child would be born, and maybe he’d have that happy future he saw in the Tesseract. Just maybe.     
 

* * *

     
    Sigyn doesn’t make a sound as the knife cuts her palm, doesn’t even wince. Her blood is dark in the low candlelight, almost black, and warm against his fingers. Loki sets the knife down and presses his palm against hers, lining his cut up with hers, and then meeting her gaze.  
     
    “Loki,” Sigyn begins, voice steady. “I cannot walk these Realms without you by my side. I refuse to. Without you, I am lost. You are my darkness and my light, my flesh and bone, my breath and heart. I love you.”  
     
    “Sigyn,” he says, already feeling the magic respond to their words. “I have tried to walk these Realms without you by my side, and I failed. Without you, I am lost. You are my darkness and light, my flesh and bone, my breath and heart. I love you, and I will always love you, until the end of my days and beyond, when I wander Hel’s realm.”  
     
    “Until the end of my days and beyond, when I wander Hel’s realm,” Sigyn repeats, sighing as she too feels the magic working. “With my heart’s blood and yours, I form a bond that will never be broken. No magic can unbind it, no sword can cut it, no words can undo it. I am yours, and you are mine, as it shall always be.”  
     
    “As it shall always be,” Loki says softly, watching as Sigyn presses two fingertips into his blood and then draws a rune on his bare chest, right above his heart. When she’s done, he takes her own blood and draws a matching rune on her bare chest. “ _Gebo_ ,” Loki whispered, and the runes glow before dissolving into their skin.  
     
    Sigyn gasps slightly, but keeps her hold on his hand. Then they both step forward and, blood still mingling, kiss each other under the stars.  
     
    “Woe to any who try to break this and part us,” Loki whispers when the kiss ends, and just like that, the spell is complete. He holds on to Sigyn for a long time, not caring that he’s smearing blood on her back or that she’s getting blood on his shoulder. “I love you, wife.”  
     
    “And I love you, husband.”  
     
    They kiss again, and when they part this time they bring their hands away as well. Sigyn heals her cut and then his, then slips her dress back up onto her shoulders, tying the laces in back. He likewise puts his tunic back on, their motions the only thing breaking the silence in the dark woods.  
     
    It was done. Sigyn was truly his, and now he was hers as well. It was perhaps not the most usual of weddings, but it was one that suited him for now. There would be time for a proper wedding later, where Sigyn could be treated right. But this ensured that Odin would not try to part them when they returned to Asgard.  
     
    He’s about to ask if she’s ready to return to the movable home she’s living in now when he hears something in the bushes. Something large, by the sound of it, and coming for them. A dagger is immediately in his hand and Loki pushes Sigyn behind him. He pinpoints where the sound is coming from and prepares to aim his throw, when a familiar flash of red catches his eye in the moonlight and his heart drops.  
     
    Thor emerges into the clearing, looking confused and worried and, perhaps, just a little angry.  
     
    “Loki,” he says, and Loki hates how much power his once brother still has over him. He doesn’t lower his dagger, but the urge to throw it is lessening by the second. “Why are you here? How did you get out of Gladsheim?” Thor glances behind him to Sigyn, who is peering out at him. “And what are you doing with the healer?”  
     
    “My Prince, I can explain--”  
     
    “Do not call him that,” Loki says harshly, taking a step back and causing Sigyn to do the same. “Do not make yourself small for him. You are of equal standing now.”  
     
    Thor takes that in and his expression becomes incredulous. “Loki, what have you done?”  
     
    “Must you always assume I’m up to no good?” Loki asks. “More to the point, how did you find us?”  
     
    “Theoric went to see her and when he found her missing, he grew worried. He thought Dark Elves had made off with her,” Thor says, and Loki barely bites back a snort. Theoric doesn’t know her at all if he thinks she’d be taken so easily by the enemy. “He came to us. We came to find her.”  
     
    “And so you have,” Loki says, motioning to the way Thor came with his dagger. “So run back and tell them she’s fine. We’re returning to Asgard.”  
     
    Thor stares at both of them, and Sigyn shifts uneasily on her feet. “Sigyn,” he says at length, his gaze going to her, “what did you do?”  
     
    Sigyn hesitates, then emerges from behind Loki. “He asked me to marry him,” she says, “and I said yes. We were--we were just finishing the ceremony.”  
     
    An astonished expression crosses Thor’s face, along with a hint of hurt, or so it seems to Loki. It’s gone before he can really figure it out. “This does not have the look of a wedding,” Thor says, coming closer. Every step he takes causes Loki to tense even more, until he feels he might snap.  
     
    Loki had always sort of known that Thor would find some way to ruin his wedding, either by causing a drunken riot or generally being insufferable. He had not, however, thought that Thor could ruin this one, as strange a wedding as it was. He has clearly severely underestimated his brother’s gift to ruin any kind of happiness Loki might find.  
     
    “Not by Asgardian standards,” Loki concedes. “We used a ritual far older than any of that. Now, if you’ll excuse us, brother...”  
     
    “No, Loki.”  
     
    He freezes right where he is, the words sending a horrific chill down his spine. Whether Thor knows it or not--and Loki suspects that he doesn’t--he just repeated the last two words Odin said to him before he fell--  
     
    Loki cringes away from the thought, from the memory. He attempts to recompose himself. “You do not tell me what to do anymore, Thor. I am no longer your little brother to command and remind him to know his place.”  
     
    There’s a heavy silence before Thor speaks. “I have made my mistakes,” Thor says, and Loki wants to laugh at how he’s still echoing Odin, without even realizing it. “I realize now that how I acted was wrong. I wronged you, Loki. I know that now, and I am sorr--”  
     
    “Save your apologies,” Loki hisses. “I do not want them. Will you apologize for throwing me into the abyss, out of jealousy and hatred that I had become King before you?”  
     
    “I did no such thing,” Thor growls, stepping towards Loki. “You fell, brother, and not because of me. You chose to let go and die instead of letting Father pull you back up.” There’s a crack in his voice, a pain, and Loki laughs at it.  
     
    “Is that what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of guilt? That I let go?” He spits the words out, ignores the terror that runs through him. “Is that what the Allfather told everyone, to keep the blame off his beloved golden son?”  
     
    “Loki,” his once brother says, “I would not have done that. I would not have let it happen. You are still my brother, in bond if it cannot be by blood. I would have died myself if it meant you lived.”  
     
    _A shame you didn’t_ , Loki thinks, but something keeps him from saying it. He does not want Thor dead, he realizes numbly, but neither does Thor’s pleas reach him in any way. His rage does not subside, and he feels the warm metal of his dagger against his fingers.  
     
    “Loki, please,” Sigyn says, reaching out for him. He pauses briefly, though he doesn’t glance at her. “He’s telling the truth. He mourned for ages.”  
     
    Loki says nothing, staring hard at Thor. He cannot fight Thor here. It would draw the attention of the Dark Elves, and worse, Sigyn might get hurt by accident.  
     
    But that does not mean he cannot take his brother to task for other things.  
     
     “And what of the muzzle?” Loki asks, his voice rasping. “What of the chains you put me in, which served no purpose? I could have broken them, if I wished it. I was beaten and my army dismantled. I had no other weapons against you, but you allowed Fury to talk you into binding me. Would you have tortured me as well, if he had asked?”  
     
    Something in Thor’s expression shifts, and Loki pauses before laughing. “Oh, he _did_ ask you to torture me, didn’t he? Am I supposed to thank you for not going through with it?”  
     
    “No--”  
     
    “But you also didn’t stop them,” Loki points out, and any hesitation he may have had about not hurting Thor dissipates quickly. His grip tightens on his dagger and he’s prowling closer to Thor, malice laced in his every movement. “You would have let them torture me to get their answers, and then--what? Would you still have placed the muzzle on me and dragged me back home to dear old Father?”  
     
    “Loki,” Sigyn says quietly, but it’s too late now. Loki ignores her and circles Thor, who watches Loki warily.  
     
    “What would you have done had I not spoken during such torment, brother?” he spits out the word, rage building. “Nothing--nothing--they could have done to me would been capable of moving me, not after what I had been through. After the torture I suffered at the hands of another, far superior being to those damned mortals you love so much. Nothing they could have done would have moved me.”  
  
    Loki gets closer to Thor, who does not move away. He was always an idiot like that. Loki gets right into his face and his voice goes deathly quiet. “What would you have done then, mighty Thor?”  
     
    There’s a long silence, and Loki hates that Thor has to actually think about his answer. He can feel Sigyn watching them both, but he does not turn to look at her. His fingers are itching to bury the dagger deep into Thor’s heart and he only just holds himself back from doing just that.  
     
    _Speak, damn you_ , Loki thinks. Speak and be done with it. Vaguely, he realizes he doesn’t know what answer he wants to hear from Thor, but Loki knows whatever comes out of Thor’s mouth next will decide the course from here. It’s an absurd thing to trust his brother with.  
     
    Finally, Thor speaks. “I would have done what was needed,” he says. “I would have taken you from them and, with the Tesseract, I would have brought you home. I would not have let them torture you. No matter what you had done, I would not have allowed that.”  
     
    Loki stares at him for a long, long moment, then steps away. “I don’t have a home. Remember that, Odinson. I don’t want the home of the people who have lied to me.” For all that he was returning to Asgard, he only did so out of necessity. If it had been his choice, he would have kept wandering away from them for the rest of his life.  
     
    Except Thor. Loki knows that he could wander to the ends of the universe, past the Nine Realms and beyond, and Thor would still find him somehow if only to make certain he was okay. Loki hates him for it. Loki loves him for it. But it changes nothing that happened between them in the past, and it changes nothing of what they’ve both become now.  
     
    Perhaps one day, Loki thinks, they can move beyond it. Perhaps one day he will be able to look upon Thor kindly and love him again, without everything else attached. But then again, maybe he’ll decide to put a dagger in Thor’s heart after all. He cannot know; the Tesseract did not show him that.  
     
    For today, Loki puts the dagger away.  
     
    He steps back to Sigyn, meeting her gaze. Her hands are clasped tightly, so tight her knuckles are turning white. He unclasps them and brings them up to his face, kissing her fingers gently. She doesn’t relax, but she doesn’t stop him either.  
     
    “Go back to the others, Thor,” he says, not turning to look at the man he still damnably loves. “Tell Theoric that his intended has married another, and that she is safe in Asgard again. Tell Odin that his test failed. And when you return to Asgard, never seek me out.”  
     
    Before Thor can say anything, Loki crafts his spell and opens the pathway from Midgard to Asgard. He takes Sigyn by the hand and leads her through, leaving everything else behind.


	6. Part Six

    There is no fanfare or cheering crowds to greet them when they return to Asgard. It’s completely silent for a long while before a guard notices they’re there and shouts, and then it’s the sound of running feet hitting the golden floor that plays for them.  
     
    Loki pulls Sigyn close and prepares a spell if need be. He’s still weak; the shapeshifting, opening a pathway to Midgard and then the blood magic has taken its toll on him. But for Sigyn’s safety, none of that matters. He can cast a spell if he must.  
     
    “Loki.”  
     
    His mother’s voice greets him over the guards, who have surrounded them in a circle, their weapons at the ready.  
     
    “Queen Frigga,” Loki answers as civilly as he can. “There’s no need for the guards. I’m not stupid enough to attack a member of the royal family in their own throne room.”  
     
    There’s a brief moment before Frigga raises her hand and the guards lower their weapons. They step back and away, though Loki still keeps a protective arm around his wife.  
     
    “What did you do?” Frigga asks, rising from the throne apprehensively.  
     
    “It’s very simple,” Loki says, smiling unrepentantly. “I’ve taken Sigyn as my wife now.”  
     
    There’s a long silence as Frigga stares at him, then steps down the stairs towards them both. “How? You can’t have gotten married here.”  
     
    In response, Loki only lifts his left hand and shows Frigga the cut on his palm. Her eyes widen as she realizes what they both did, and Loki wants to laugh at her, at Odin, at anyone who thought they could honestly keep him from Sigyn now that she’s claimed him as her own.  
     
    “Are you absolutely mad, Loki?” Frigga asks, tears forming in her eyes--either from sadness, disappointment or anger, he can’t tell. He doesn’t care. “I told you--”  
     
    “So you did,” Loki says, his voice going cold. “You are not my mother, so you cannot order me to do anything anymore.”  
     
    Sigyn cringes beside him and gives his hand a squeeze. “Loki, please,” she says quietly. To Frigga she says, “My Queen, I am sorry for this blatant disregard of your orders to my husband, but... but I do sincerely love him. And I want to be with him.” She pauses then. “And I’m pregnant.”  
     
    Frigga audibly gasps and then looks to Loki for confirmation. He merely nods, pulling Sigyn closer to him again, all too aware of the guards waiting just outside the doors. Not that he thinks Frigga would hurt him. That sort of thing was always more Thor or Odin’s specialty.  
     
    But he doesn’t want to risk Sigyn’s safety on an uncertain thought.  
     
    “Are you lying, child?” Frigga asks, her voice becoming sterner, reminding Loki of all the times she was angry with him and took that same tone.  
     
    “Do you suspect me of a trick, _mother_?” Loki asks innocently, causing Frigga to cast him a sharp, unamused glance. “I have married her to give her the protection of the Allfather. Her and my child. She is carrying an heir to Asgard’s throne now... or Jotunheim’s throne, were it still existing.”  
     
    “You cannot both, Loki,” Frigga says. “You cannot disown us as your family and then expect us to hand over our protection when it suits you.”  
     
    “You’ve yet to disown me,” Loki points out. “Therefore I am still your son, not only in name but also in your hearts.”  
     
    If Frigga--if any of them--ever thought that he wouldn’t use their love for him to his advantage, then they truly hadn’t been paying attention. His once family, much like Asgard itself now, is only a means to an end for him. To protect the one thing he can no longer live without, and the child she carries.  
     
    “My Queen,” Sigyn says quietly, stepping forward, “I know things are tense between all of you. I understand how unwelcome this is, my being Loki’s wife and carrying his child. But please, there are people hunting him--you know this already, and he seeks to save me from them as much as he can. And he seeks to save the child from others.”  
     
    Frigga pauses, coming to the realization far later than Loki thought she would. A half-blood child of two worlds, two enemies. Of course it would be unsafe most everywhere else. While the Aesir were the only ones to truly despise the Jotnar, the other Realms were not overly fond of them either.  
     
    “So please, you have every right to be angry with both of us,” Sigyn continues, “but at least allow the child some protection. He has done nothing wrong. I have resigned from my position as a healer and I have ended my betrothal to another. All I ask is that you give me and my child somewhere to live and some support, and you need not help me past that.”  
     
    Loki stares at Sigyn as she speaks, then smiles slightly when she’s done. She will make a great Queen one day. She knows how to speak to his mother, another royal, in a way that is polite and yet still makes her demands clear. It’s good to see that her intelligence extends to politics as well as to her magic and healing.  
     
    Frigga looks at Sigyn as well, then her frown deepens. “Come with me, child. We’ll speak in private.”  
     
    Loki doesn’t let go of Sigyn. “I am coming with her.”  
     
    “No, you are not,” Frigga says. “You will wait here for our return.”  
     
    “It’s fine, dearest,” Sigyn says quietly, pulling out of his grip. “It’s only a little conversation.” She puts a hand to his cheek and smiles, then takes a deep breath and follows Frigga into the Odinsleep chamber that lies behind the throne.  
     
    Loki watches, then focuses on Sigyn through the line that now connects them from the cuts on their palms. Sigyn hesitates briefly but doesn’t glance back as she enters the chamber. The doors close behind her and Loki struggles to keep his spell up, his fatigue making it difficult. Then he feels a gentle warmth coming through the line and the spell stops wavering, and suddenly he finds himself standing beside Sigyn in the Odinsleep chamber.  
     
    _That’s my beautiful Queen,_ Loki thinks proudly before focusing on Frigga.  
     
    “Why have you done this?”  
     
    Sigyn clasps her hands behind her back, biting her lip. “Because I love him. I do, my Queen, truly. Perhaps it doesn’t make sense, given what’s... what he’s done, but I don’t think you can choose who you fall in love with, can you?”  
     
    Frigga sighs, looking to the bed Loki once saved his father from by killing the man who truly brought him into the Realms. “If we’d known this would be how it turned out, we would not have allowed you near him.”  
     
    “I know,” Sigyn says quietly. “I didn’t expect it myself. I only thought of doing my job. I never thought it would last as long as it did, or that he’d--take to me as much as he did, I suppose.”  
     
    Frigga eyes her critically and, to her credit, Sigyn does not flinch or fidget once. “You did help him,” she admits after a brief, tense pause. “His mind was far afield from us when he returned to Asgard, and it seems as though you helped steer him back to a place where he wasn’t as lost.”  
     
    “Perhaps so, my Queen.”  
     
    “And then when you left,” Frigga goes on, “he began to wander again. No, not to the same degree, but wandering all the same.” She lets that hang there for a moment before continuing. “You understand why this causes me concern, don’t you?”  
     
    “I do,” Sigyn says with a nod. “I’ve tried to tell him as much, that he shouldn’t depend on me so much for his own wellbeing. But Loki’s determined. And he’s frightened, I think. Frightened of losing me. And, if I may be honest, my Queen, I’m frightened of the same thing.”  
     
    “We all fear being separated from our loved ones,” Frigga says with a hint of uncertainty.  
     
    Sigyn shakes her head. “It’s more than that. He--” She sighs, gazing away, as if trying to find a proper way to put her thoughts into words. “The Allfather, he loves you. He makes you feel loved and special, doesn’t he?”  
     
    Frigga only nods.  
     
    “Loki does that for me, but it’s so much more,” Sigyn says. “And I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I have long felt, in my life, that I wasn’t important. I was a disappointment to my parents, and eventually I believed that I would be a disappointment to most people. I began to get used to being inconsequential. If I may be frank, I was miserable.  
     
    “And then,” Sigyn says, smiling a little, “Loki returned to Asgard, and Lady Eir said he needed someone to be a caretaker of sorts. That the Allfather and the Queen wished to have someone watch over him and report back to them. And I looked at my fellow healers and I thought, well, their families would mourn deeply if they were killed, but mine? I’m not so certain. So I volunteered, and I met Loki.  
     
    “This is my secret, of sorts, my Queen. I used to admire Loki from afar, when I was a child. I thought he was handsome, even then. I used to delight in the few visits I was allowed to Gladsheim, because it meant I might see him. I took every chance I could get to attend a celebration or a feast here, so I might have a glimpse of him.”  
     
    Loki stares at Sigyn as she continues, taken aback by all of this. He’d known she had admired him from afar, but this was more honesty than he expected her to share with Frigga. What has he done, he wonders, to deserve one such as Sigyn? Nothing, he knows, and yet here she is. All his.  
     
    “He never saw me. He never noticed I was staring at him. I’m not of noble birth and I was only a healer; I wasn’t worth noticing. Until, apparently, I was.”  
     
    Sigyn swallows thickly and shakes her head, smiling broadly. “This is my very long winded way of saying that he makes me feel important, my Queen. He makes me feel loved. I’ve not had much of that. And,” Sigyn adds, her voice becoming firmer, her back straighter, her chin higher, “I will not give that up. Not for anything in the Nine Realms. I will not give him up.”  
     
    Frigga looks uneasy, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looks away from Sigyn after a moment and steps back, seemingly trying to escape the intensity of Sigyn’s words and the feelings behind them.  
     
    “You do realize it’ll be difficult,” Frigga says at length. “He will never be well loved again. He will never be looked upon kindly or welcomed anywhere in the Nine Realms. You’ve condemned yourself to a long life of solitude and hatred.”  
     
    “My apologies, Allmother,” Sigyn says evenly, “but all sorcerers are already subjected to such here in Asgard. I was no different. I do not regret my decisions, and now I have Loki and our child to keep me company. Will you deny them to me?”  
     
    Frigga stares at her before taking a deep breath. “It’s not merely my decision to make.”  
     
    “Then may Loki and I leave you to speak with the Allfather, so that you may come to your decision?”  
     
    Sigyn withdraws her magic from his and Loki realizes it’s her way of saying he needs to leave. He does so, coming back into his own mind. Moments later, they both return from the Odinsleep chamber. Sigyn comes to stand in front of him, her warm brown eyes searching his, and he smiles faintly and kisses her.  
     
    “I meant it,” Sigyn whispers against his skin. “Every word.”  
     
    “I know.”  
     
    They both look back to Frigga, holding hands. Frigga sighs after a moment, closing her eyes and putting her hands to her mouth. Finally she turns away from them. “I cannot do anything without the Allfather’s knowledge or consent,” she says at length. “But I will think on this. Leave me.”  
     
    Loki is all too happy to do just that, so he takes Sigyn’s arm and leads her out of the throne room. At first he isn’t all too certain where to go; not to his dungeon again, no, and not to his study or bedchambers either. He’s certain his family has kept his things there, sentimental as they are, but he has no interest in seeing any of it again.  
     
    After a moment’s thought, he turns down a corridor and begins leading her another way. Once they’re far enough away from the throne room, Sigyn lets out a small breath and relaxes.  
     
    “Your mother is terrifying when she’s angry,” Sigyn says, and Loki smiles briefly.  
     
    “You’re far more frightening,” he says. “And brave as well.”  
     
    Sigyn blushes and, instead of glancing down to the floor as she usually does with a compliment, stands a little straighter and smiles at him. “You believe so?”  
     
    “I know it.”  
     
    “Thank you,” she says quietly. They fall into a comfortable silence as Loki leads her through the corridors, then to a pair of large golden doors with runes decorating them. Sigyn stops, her eyes widening. “Loki, is this--?”  
     
    “It is,” he says with a quiet laugh, opening the doors for her and pulling her into the library. Healers sometimes worked in the healing rooms, but they had a limited number of places they were allowed to go in Gladsheim otherwise. Sigyn had likely never seen the library before.  
     
    She steps inside, eyes gazing over every bookcase and shelf, to the three other levels in the library. Then she stands in one clearing, looking around like a lost kitten, seemingly having no idea where she should start.  
     
    “We will wait here until Mother sends for us,” Loki says. “And if it doesn’t happen today, well, then I’m moving us to my bedchamber to sleep instead. There’s a much bigger bed there.” He leans in and kisses her hair, pressing against her back. “And you would look quite beautiful in it.”  
     
    Sigyn laughs shakily and pulls away, giving him a stern look that’s utterly ruined by her smile. “You shouldn’t tease me like that here, unless you intend to do something about it.”  
     
    Loki slowly raises an eyebrow and lets the silence stretch on. Sigyn’s blush grows deeper and deeper until finally she gives his arm a whap. “Not here,” she says, stepping away from him.  
     
    “Ah, but darling, there are plenty of tables around. And if that fails, I can hold you up against a bookcase without much issue.”  
     
    She laughs in shock, then her eyes travel down his body before she realizes what she’s doing and glances away. She finds an aisle she’s apparently very interested in and heads over that way, Loki trailing behind her, smirking as he goes.  
     
    The library had always been like a private world to him. Most people didn’t bother with the books, so it was usually only ever him and the scholars here, passing their days with dusty tomes. He spent far more time than he cares to count in the utter silence of the library, practicing his spells. He would go hours without being bothered by anyone.  
     
    Of course, Thor always knew where to find him in here...  
     
    Loki stops that thought before it continues and moves on. Thor is elsewhere, possibly being killed by Malekith and his forces, and Loki has someone much better before him now.  
     
    Sigyn is glancing through the books now, occasionally picking one out and reading a few pages before setting it back. She seems restless, somehow, and fidgeting, biting her lip while her gaze goes distant. Loki’s about to ask her what’s wrong when she turns to him, narrowing her eyes.  
     
    “On Midgard,” she says slowly, “when we were speaking of the child...”  
     
    “Yes?”  
     
    “You called the baby a he,” Sigyn says, watching him. Loki returns her stare with his own confused one. “You said that if we married, the baby would be recognized as your son and a Prince of Asgard.”  
     
    It takes him only a second to realize what she’s saying. Swallowing thickly, Loki takes a step back and turns away. “So I did.”  
     
    “I wasn’t the only thing the Tesseract showed you,” Sigyn says softly, “was I?”  
     
    He takes a deep breath, running a hand over his face. “No,” he answers at last. “No, you weren’t. I saw both of us, you and myself, married. And I saw...”  
     
    Somehow he can’t bring himself to say it. He’s been careless, thought Sigyn would only assume he was thinking the child would be a male as every parent hopes for. She is far smarter than that and he needs to start remembering it.  
     
    “Loki?” she asks, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking at him in concern.  
     
    “I saw two boys,” Loki finishes flatly. “One elder and one younger. Playing in a field, smiling... happy.”  
     
    “Two boys,” Sigyn repeats gently, then smiles brightly. “We have two boys?”  
     
    “In that version of the future we did,” Loki says. “Now, who knows?”  
     
    “Well, I don’t intend to let you escape me,” Sigyn says, putting her hands on his waist and closing the space between their bodies. “So perhaps we’ll manage to find the time for a second child someday, hm?”  
     
    He stares at her in shock, then shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh and kisses her. “Focus on this one first, dearest,” Loki says, putting a hand on her abdomen. She’s not far enough along to be showing, so her stomach is the same as it ever was, soft and slightly rounded but not from pregnancy.  
     
    Loki hopes he is there to touch the small bump it’ll make soon enough. Then he wonders why he doubts he’ll be there for her at all.  
     
    Unsettled by the thought, he pushes it aside and kisses Sigyn’s forehead. She smiles, then raises an eyebrow at him. “You should have told me, though. About the rest of the vision.”  
     
    “It didn’t seem important at the time,” Loki says. “And with everything else that happened afterwards, there didn’t seem to be a time to say it.”  
     
    Sigyn tilts her head at him, frowning. “You still should have said.”  
     
    “Yes,” Loki relents, nodding and kissing her hair. “I should have told you, and I did not. I’m sorry.”  
     
    She softens a moment later, nuzzling his chin and hugging him close. “You’ve been honest with me, Loki,” she says. “I hope that you continue to be so.”  
     
    Loki says nothing to that. To ask him to be honest is a hefty thing. Lying comes far more easily to him than he cares to admit, and it’s his first instinct to spin a lie rather than tell a truth. But for Sigyn, he’ll try, because she deserves that much.  
     
    Sigyn sighs as she pulls away, smiling at him softly before turning back to the books. She’s quiet a moment longer, her gaze on the lettered spines but not truly seeing them, when she turns back to him. “Is it too early to begin thinking of names?”  
     
    Fear sparks through him at the notion, that they could already start thinking of what name the child should have. Then it turns sour in his mouth. He has no ancestors he wants to name his child after. None of them deserve that honour.  
     
    “What did you have in mind?” Loki asks, walking out of the aisle and into another clearing, one with tables and chairs. He sits down, staring at her as she continues to search through the books.  
     
    “I’m not certain,” Sigyn muses, putting a hand on her stomach. “It’s a boy, so... my father’s name is Iwaldi.” She pauses then, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t think I want to name him after my father, though.”  
     
    Yet again Loki is reminded that he still needs to pay her parents a visit. Now that he’s more or less free, he reminds himself to think on it later.  
     
    “I don’t suppose the Tesseract told you what we named them?” Sigyn asks, her tone light and joking.  
     
    Loki laughs, leaning his head on the back of the chair, staring up at the glass ceiling to the sky above them. His exhaustion is quickly catching up with him, but he doesn’t want to sleep. Not when he’s able to spend time with Sigyn after so long apart.  
     
    “Unfortunately, no,” Loki says. “I’m afraid that’s left to us.”  
     
    Sigyn finally pulls out a few books and comes to join him at the table. Once her hands are free Loki takes one in his own and pulls her over to him, letting her sit in his lap with his arms around her waist. She blushes again, clearly remembering the remarks he’d made only minutes before. Resolutely she takes a book from the top of the stack and flips it open.  
     
    “We’ll think of something,” she says quietly, smiling at him and then kissing him gently. The book lays forgotten in her lap afterwards until they both hear the library doors open and several men walk in.  
     
    Sigyn stands up from Loki’s lap, smoothing out her dress nervously, and Loki stands with her. The guards find them a short moment later.  
     
    “The Queen will see you now.”  
     
    Loki exchanges a look with Sigyn before taking her hand and leading her out of the library. They come upon Frigga in the throne room once again, where she sits on the throne. Loki finds he cannot read her expression, which causes him some discomfort. If this plan fails, Loki’s not entirely certain what he’ll do or where he’ll go to keep Sigyn safe.  
     
    “I’ve made my decision,” Frigga says when they both approach her at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne. “The Allfather and I have decided that this marriage cannot be allowed to stand. You used unnatural means to bind yourselves together, and I fear it was for the worse for both of you. Asgard does not recognize this as a law binding marriage.”  
     
    It takes him a second to process what Frigga just said, and then he’s pulling Sigyn closer. He got it wrong, Loki thinks numbly. He expected Frigga to be lenient with them, he expected all of them to be lenient with him, to forgive him because that was _what they did_ , they would always give him one last chance because of their damned sentiment for him--  
     
    “My Queen,” Sigyn says quietly, but not fearfully or with tears. “Please--”  
     
    Frigga silences her with a look and rage burns through him that she’d dare treat Sigyn this way, as no more than a misbehaving child being reprimanded for throwing a tantrum.  
     
    “Loki will be returned to his prison,” Frigga continues. “Sigyn, you will no longer be allowed to see to him as his caretaker.” She motions a hand and Loki distantly hears guards approaching them as he holds on to Sigyn. “Geirr, escort Loki to his cell.”  
     
    “Yes, my Queen.”  
     
    Loki lashes out without a thought, daggers coming to his hands easily. There are pained cries as blood spills on the golden floors of the throne room, staining his clothes and running warm down his arms. More guards arrive to replace the ones that lie twitching or still on the ground and absently he hears Frigga and Sigyn--Sigyn, _his_ sweet Sigyn that they would think to take from him--shouting at him, begging him to stop.  
     
    He pays them no mind. Loki is careful not to hit Sigyn, but everyone else? They are fair game.  
     
    The blood makes his grip on his daggers slippery and his feet slide on the wet metal floor more than once, but still he stabs and slashes, wetting the ground even more. His exhaustion makes him careless, all over the place, fighting just like Thor used to, swinging wildly around and still manging to hit every single target. He’ll kill all of them and burn Asgard out of the sky if it means he and Sigyn can stand on the ashes and no one can ever part them--  
     
    “Loki!” A hand grabs his wrist and Loki stops to glance at Sigyn briefly, terror making him freeze when he sees the blood on her face and dress, but then he realizes it’s not hers but the blood of the others, and he hesitates a second too long because when he turns back around--  
     
    A guard punches him hard in the face and Loki registers only a flicker of pain before the guard punches him again and again and again until he finally falls to the floor, only to try to get back up again, to stand, to fight for Sigyn and their child, but then something hits him in the stomach and knocks the wind out of his lungs and he’s down again, the blood making it impossible to stand up again and then the guards are there, surrounding him, hitting him hard until finally--  
     
    “Sigyn--”  
     
    --until finally he blacks out, the darkness taking hold of him once again.  
   

* * *

     
    He wakes to an overwhelming brightness, a white more blinding than freshly fallen snow when the midday sun hits it. Loki groans and closes his eyes again, trying to block it out, but he can still see it even through his eyelids.  
     
    Everything hurts, is his next realization. The pain of it takes his breath away and for a brief, terrifying span of time he’s not sure he can move at all.  
     
    First things first, he rationalizes, get used to the light. Loki opens his eyes again, groaning at the light again but refusing to flinch away. He blinks several times before his eyes eventually adjust, and then he slowly turns his head to take in his surroundings. It takes him a long pause before he realizes where he is.  
     
    Loki sits up quickly when he sees where he is, then immediately regrets his decision as his body reacts in agony. It hurts to even breathe, but still he forces himself to stand up and limp over to the clear wall of his new cell.  
     
    They’ve placed him in a proper cell this time. Somehow, he finds this hilarious, and he laughs through the pain in his entire torso.  
     
    _Of all the times for them to have finally used their backbones..._  
     
    When he’s done laughing at the stupidity of his family, Loki lifts a hand cautiously and touches a fingertip to the glass. A red hot spark of pain shoots up his finger and through his arm before Loki can jerk his hand way, and he steps back from the glass to collapse against the solid white wall that’s safest.  
     
    His new prison is smaller than his old one, and far too bright. Loki glances around before attempting to cast a spell, only to have it completely fall apart before he can weave it together. He tries again, and again, before noticing that the yellow lines around his cell glow whenever he does.  
     
    Loki rests his head against the wall, frowning. This is a new addition to the cells, and not one he likes. Where could Odin have found the ability to negate any magic before it could even be put together?  
     
    _It doesn’t matter,_ he thinks a second later. The point of it is, he has no way out. He is well and truly caught, and this time, he thinks, they do not intend to let him out.  
     
    _Locked up, here,_ Loki thinks, _until you have use of me. How quaint, Allfather._  
     
    His left hand twitches as it falls to his lap, and he glances at his palm. There’s a moment of utter horror before he stands up again and goes over to the glass, hitting it with a fist, ignoring the pain it causes.  
     
    “Sigyn!” His yell reverberates throughout his cell, but does not reach the outside. He slams his fist again and again, raising his voice to a scream. “Bring her back to me! Sigyn!”  
     
    He screams until his throat is hoarse, until his body begins to become numb to the pain he’s inflicting on himself, until he hits the glass wall so hard that it flings him back, apparently taking his hit as an attempt to break it. Loki stands up again, sliding momentarily on some blood on the floor that he ignores as he goes back to the window.  
     
    “ _Sigyn_!”  
     
    It seems like hours pass before a light opens in the darkness that lies beyond his cell. Loki watches as a shadow grows and then becomes small, and then Frigga is before him in all her golden splendour.  
     
    “Where is she?” Loki hisses, getting as close to the glass as he can without touching it. “What have you done with her?”  
     
    “She’s safe,” Frigga says simply, and Loki believes it not at all. “If you had waited for me to finish my order, you would have known that Odin and I had decided to send her somewhere she could be protected. From Thanos and from the people of Asgard.”  
     
    “I don’t believe you.”  
     
    “Believe whatever you like, Loki,” Frigga says, sounding tired. “It is the truth of the matter.”  
     
    “Take me to her.”  
     
    “No.”  
     
    Loki slams his fist against the glass again. “Where is she?”  
     
    “It doesn’t matter,” Frigga says. “She’s safe, and you will not see her again. Don’t you see how awful you are for each other, Loki? Look at what you did!” She points to his left hand and he splays it against the glass, just so she’ll be forced to look at it. He lasts only a few seconds before he has to take it away, his hand burning.  
     
    “She has given up her entire life just to be with you,” Frigga continues. “She was an Elder Healer, she could have gone on to replace Eir herself one day as the Master Healer. She had a good man waiting to be her husband, who would have protected her and given her a good home with strong children. Don’t you see? You have become the sole focus of her entire life, and it is not right.”  
     
    “It is no less than what I’ve done for her,” Loki says. “And I would do it again. Sigyn is my wife, and you cannot deny that.”  
     
    “We can and we have,” Frigga says. “We will offer the girl and her child protection, but she will not be recognized as a part of this family. Her child will not be an heir to the throne.”  
     
    Loki pauses, and then laughs quietly, shaking his head. “I should have seen it before,” he says. “It has nothing to do with how much we love each other. The Allfather simply doesn’t wish to see a Frost Giant on the throne of Asgard, or even entertain the possibility of it happening.”  
     
    Loki backs away from the glass, holding his ribs and limping through his pain. “Even if Thor were to marry and have children of his own, there would always be the fear that they would die and leave Asgard with a half-blooded bastard as its only choice for a King. And the Allfather just couldn’t bear that, could he? The idea that he would one day have to turn Asgard over to a Jotun child, to forever be known as the King Who Lost Asgard to the Jotnar...”  
     
    Loki laughs again, turning back to face Frigga. “It would be no less than he deserves.”  
     
    Frigga’s looking at him sadly, her shoulders sagging and her eyes tired. “We’ve hurt you, Loki,” Frigga says. “We all know this. We’ve accepted our mistakes. But why did you have to bring Sigyn into this as well? You have dragged an innocent girl into your horrors, and now she will never be able to escape and live a happy life.”  
     
    “She could have,” Loki says, “if you had let us stay together. Didn’t you always wish to see me settled down with a nice, quiet wife, mother?”  
     
    Frigga shakes her head. “Not like this,” she says. “Sigyn is safer without you. You are safer without her in your life. As is your child. We have granted them protection, as I said, and she will stay there for as long as need be.”  
     
    Loki approaches the glass again, never breaking his eye contact with Frigga. “I will find her,” Loki says. “I promise you that, Allmother. Perhaps not soon, perhaps not even within the next five centuries, but I will find her, and the Allfather and all his forces of Asgard will not stop me.”  
     
    There’s a brief flicker of something in Frigga’s expression and it takes Loki a moment to realize it’s fear. He laughs as Frigga steps back and then leaves, the large doors closing behind her and throwing everything into darkness once again outside of his cell.  
     
    _Good,_ he thinks. _Be afraid of me. Be afraid of both of us, who could tear down this entire Realm gleefully if we wished to. You’d be smart to fear us._  
     
    Loki sits against the wall, laughing and letting his fingers run over the cut in his palm, which will never heal properly as long as the spell is in place.  
     
    _Never fear, sweet Sigyn,_ Loki thinks. _'Until the end of my days and beyond, when I wander Hel’s Realm.' Isn’t that right, dearest?_  
     
    He can find her. One day. For now, all he has to do... is wait.

* * *

     
    From past the wheat fields and hunting mountains of Asgard, there lies a small cottage at the edge of the Realm. It’s hidden by a forest, a forest no one ever really visits, and if they did they would pass by the cottage without much thought on their way to wherever they were going.  
     
    It is here Sigyn finds herself. The Allmother and Allfather had upheld part of their promise, at least. She is safe here, both from Thanos and from the Aesir’s hatred.  
     
    She is also alone. Occasionally a guard will visit and check up on her, only to leave a short while later without exchanging many words. Otherwise, she is left alone entirely by the whole of Asgard.  
     
    She had railed against Frigga’s decision the entire ride to the cottage. She had begged to be taken back, to allow Loki to come with her, promising she would keep him in line. Frigga ignored it all. Whenever Sigyn tried to escape, the guards brought her back. She had been placed in cuffs that limited her magic, leaving her unable to teleport away.  
     
    She hadn’t known, when she agreed to set up a system to negate Loki’s magic if need be, that the Allfather would use it against her like this. Loki had been right, Sigyn realizes. The royal family was not to be trusted.  
     
    Frigga left her at the cottage and Sigyn has not seen her since.  
     
    It’s nice, in a way, Sigyn supposes. She’d always preferred solitude to being around other people. But it would have been nicer with Loki there with her.  
     
    She sighs as she shakes out a blanket she finished making earlier that morning. It is for her child, whenever he arrives. Her abdomen is heavy and swollen, her gait is awkward and she doesn’t remember what it’s like to not have an ever present pain in her back. It’ll be time soon, and she’s terrified.  
     
    _Loki should be here,_ Sigyn thinks as she folds the woven blanket, her fingers running over the runes resting on the edges of it. _He should have been here to feel when the child first began to show, when he first began to kick. He should be here for this._  
     
    But he was not, and Sigyn has to make her peace with this. Her biggest concern now is how she’s going to deliver a child by herself, as she somehow doubts the Allmother has thought to send someone to help her birth. Perhaps they were all killed by the Dark Elves, Sigyn wonders, and it unsettles her for a moment that she does not mind the thought as much as she should.  
     
    After she’s finished with the blanket, she heads out to the small garden she’s been tending to since arriving. The guard brings food with him, plenty of it, but she still grows her own here as well. She needed something to do, and the land was there.  
     
    It’s hard to bend over and kneel, so Sigyn squats ungracefully and sets her plants straight. Her silver metal cuffs cut into her swollen wrists, the runes gleaming in the sunlight. Frigga had refused to take them off, and so Sigyn has not used her magic since arriving here. It is torture, to feel the hum of her magic beneath her skin, knowing it is right there for her to use, and then being denied it.  
     
    _One day,_ Sigyn thinks, _I will find my way back to Gladsheim. All I’d have to do is follow the ocean around, and I’d come upon the city again._  
     
    And then? Then she would find Loki, and they would both run. As far as they needed to go. After all, the Tesseract showed him two sons, and Sigyn is only carrying one. She knows they will meet again one day, so that second son will be brought into the Nine.  
     
    The whinny of a horse catches her attention and she glances up, frowning. It was not time for the guard to visit her yet. Cautiously, Sigyn stands back up and heads back into the kitchen, pulling a knife down from the wall. She would prefer to use her magic to defend herself, but as she can’t, this will have to do.  
     
    The horse is there at the edge of her garden when she comes back out, and Sigyn lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looks at the face of its rider.  
     
    “Who--” She gasps, the knife dropping from her hand as she hurries over to the woman dismounting from her horse.  
     
    “Sigyn,” Eir says, looking her over. “Well, you’re certainly pregnant, I see that now.”  
     
    “Lady Eir,” Sigyn says, bursting into tears as she hugs her teacher tightly. Her sobs cut off anything else she might have said, and her teacher hugs her back, patting her back. She hadn’t realized how much she missed Eir until she saw her again, and how much she missed being around people in general.  
     
    Perhaps she is not as cut out for solitude as she’d once believed.  
     
    “Come now,” Eir says roughly, pushing her away a little. “No more of this. Dry your face and let’s get you back inside. You shouldn’t be on your feet this close to the birth.”  
     
    Sigyn merely nods and wipes the tears from her eyes with her apron, then leads Eir into her tiny one room cottage. She allows Eir to order her back into bed, even though Sigyn wishes to make something to drink for the both of them. Eir sees to it herself, putting a pot over the fire on the hearth and sitting in a chair beside it.  
     
    She eyes Sigyn sternly until Sigyn begins to fidget.  
     
    “For being such an intelligent woman,” Eir says at last, “you have made some very poor choices these last few months.”  
     
    “I do not regret any of them,” Sigyn says sincerely. “Though I do realize it has put me in somewhat of an unsavoury situation.”  
     
    Eir snorts, glancing around Sigyn’s cottage. “I would agree to that. What were you thinking, girl? You were tasked to tend to Loki, not open your legs for him.”  
     
    Sigyn puts a hand on her belly, feeling the small life inside of her move, his limbs pressing against her skin. “I fell in love,” Sigyn says simply. “That’s all.”  
     
    “With a murderer,” Eir says, poking at the fire. “And one that tried to take over Midgard as his own. Where did your brain go when you stepped into that room?”  
     
    Sigyn sighs. Eir always had been blunt, but she used to admire Sigyn for her intelligence, skill and passion for healing. That had made her kinder to Sigyn than she was to some others. She sees now that her former teacher has lost much respect for her, and Sigyn isn’t certain how to handle it.  
     
    “I will not apologize, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Sigyn says. “Neither will I make excuses for my behaviour. I acted rashly and without thought past my own selfish desires, and I behaved unprofessionally towards someone who started out as my patient. I realize this.” She stares at Eir hard, her voice firm. “I have had a long time to think on it, trust me.”  
     
    Eir returns her stare before glancing down to the pot, which is now boiling. She gets up and retrieves herbs that Sigyn has cut and stored away herself, then begins sorting through everything and putting it in the pot.  
     
    “You were my best healer,” Eir says as she works. “You could have gone far. Theoric still asks after you. And you gave it up for a man with too much blood on his hands and a mind that’s been fratured beyond repair.”  
     
    Sigyn stares at her stomach, tracing small patterns on it. “He was worth it.”  
     
    Eir snorts again. “Oh yes, I see how much worth he consists of. A small cottage on the edge of Asgard, with no one else to speak to and no other children for your boy to play with, while he wastes away in the dungeons? What a happy life you’re leading.”  
     
    _Happier than I would have been with Theoric,_ Sigyn thinks. _Happier than I was with my parents. Oh, you poor old fool, Eir, you do not know what Loki means to me. And you do not know what I would do for him._  
     
    Eir stirs the tea together, then places a lid over the pot and sits back down. “Frigga has said you may one day be allowed back into the city,” she says. “Once your boys are grown, or once they learn how to hide their heritage.”  
     
    Sigyn recoils from the thought, her blank expression becoming a fierce scowl. “They will do no such thing,” she says. “I will not have them led the same life Loki did, lied to and made to hate his own kind. You knew, did you not?” Sigyn snaps. “You knew that Loki was not Frigga’s legitimate son. You did not help birth him and you knew the Queen was not pregnant. How many others lied to him, I wonder? Is it truly a surprise that he hates all of you now?”  
     
    “Settle down, girl,” Eir says. “You’ll work yourself into a fit. Yes, I knew Loki was not the Queen’s son, and I knew he wasn’t of Asgard. It wasn’t my place to say anything.”  
     
    “You seem to find it acceptable to say all you like now, to me,” Sigyn says. “You are not my mother, Eir, and I am not a child, so do not treat me as such.”  
     
    “Do you think this is cruel?” Eir asks. “Unkind? It is nothing compared to what people will say to you when you return.”  
     
    “I will never return to Asgard,” Sigyn says. “Not for any length of time. Not long enough for anyone to say anything to me.”  
     
    Eir shakes her head, looking irritated. “Poor, delusional girl. You still believe everything will turn out alright in the end? That somehow Loki will escape and come rescue you, and you will both be allowed to live in peace?”  
     
    _I have to believe that,_ Sigyn thinks, hating the tears that prick at her eyes. _I have to believe that, or else what is left to me? Nothing, save for my son._  
     
    A tense silence falls between them until the tea is ready, and Eir pours it into a cup and hands it to Sigyn. She takes it but does not drink it, letting it burn her hands instead.  
     
    “Frigga sent me to attend to the birth,” Eir says once she’s done with her tea. “It should be near time now.”  
     
    “How kind of her,” Sigyn says dryly, setting her cup down on the floor by her bed. “And then it’s back to only seeing a guard every few weeks or so, hm?”  
     
    Eir shrugs and goes to wash out her cup. “That man has twisted you, Sigyn,” she says. “You were never this unkind.”  
     
    _I pay unkindness with unkindness,_ Sigyn thinks, wincing as a dull pain courses through her abdomen. Her son must be moving again. _Why should I spare them when they have taken my husband from me?_  
     
    “If you truly believe Loki is the cause of all of this,” Sigyn says, “then you do not know me at all.”  
   

* * *

     
    A few days pass awkwardly, as Eir and Sigyn both try to mostly ignore each other. Sigyn is only allowed to stand briefly once or twice throughout the day, and it’s sure to make her mad before the birth of her son. She doesn’t even have any books to keep her mind company.  
     
    _I should have thought to bring some with me, before I was dragged here,_ Sigyn thinks sadly. The idea that her son will grow up without books horrifies her.  
     
    The pains start somewhere around the sixth day Eir is with her. It’s a tightened in her abdomen, making her gasp and then strangling a whine out of her as it intensifies before slowly fading away. She’d been having small contractions for a while now, as most mothers did, so she did not immediately alert Eir.  
     
    Not until the pains got worse.  
     
    Her son was born in the middle of the night and his first cries broke through the stillness of the air, echoing in the forest around them. Sigyn laughs and cries with him when she hears him, hears his strong lungs and steady voice. He’s alive, beautifully so, and upset at being taken from the warmth of her womb, but he settles down as soon as he’s swaddled in the blanket she’d made him and in her arms.  
     
    _He’s beautiful,_ Sigyn thinks when she stares at him. His face is scrunched up and wrinkly, looking rather like a potato, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Sigyn has ever seen. Her fingers are pale against his dark blue skin, and his body is cooler than her own by several degrees, but that matters not.  
     
    She cries then, because Loki is not beside her to see this. She cries harder when the pains return, making her jerk on the bed. Eir, alarmed, takes her son from her arms and sets him down, then looks between her legs to see what’s wrong.  
     
    “There’s another baby,” she says after a moment, and Sigyn grips the edge of the mattress as pain tears through her again.  
     
    “What?” she manages to shriek out, then screams as her body urges her to push, so she does. It doesn’t take as long as it did with the first one, and soon another child is in Eir’s hands, wet and bloodied and not crying immediately as the first one did.  
     
    _No,_ Sigyn thinks, her heart sinking. _No, this isn’t right, Loki said there was a younger and an elder, they were decades apart, I can’t have another child right now--_  
     
    The baby begins to wail, finally, and reality crashes down on her.  
     
    _Twins_ , Sigyn realizes numbly as she stares up at the ceiling. _I’ve had twins._ She begins to sob, her body wracking with each cry, because Loki was wrong. The path changed again, and now she knows she will never see Loki, because now she has two sons instead of just one, and there will be no chance for Loki to return to her and give her another son later on.  
     
    _I hate them,_ Sigyn thinks, _the Allfather, Frigga, Thor--I hate them all._  
     
    Eir approaches her, her second son bundled up in his blanket, and Sigyn stares at her blankly. “You need to hold them,” Eir says, looking at her uneasily. “While I heal you and make certain everything’s alright.”  
     
    Despite her pain, despite her agony and heartbreak, Sigyn holds out her arms for her second child and feels her heart begin to mend itself once she looks at his face. He’s slightly smaller than his brother, and his skin is a lighter blue, but otherwise he’s just as beautiful as the first.  
     
    “My boys,” Sigyn whispers against their foreheads, holding them close to her chest, “my beautiful boys.”  
     
    It isn’t until later, when Eir is asleep, that Sigyn makes her promise. She cuts her palm again, right along the cut that never truly healed in the first place, and wipes a streak of it across her heart and the hearts of her sons.  
     
    “I swear to you, my sons, that I will not let you grow without your father,” Sigyn whispers, so as to not wake them or Eir. “You will know him, and he will know you. We will not remain separated forever. Nothing and no one will ever part us again, I promise. And if they do, then they will know the error of their ways.”  
     
    They only had each other to rely on, Sigyn had realized over the last few months. They cannot trust anyone in Asgard, only each other, only the blood that ties them all together. No matter how long it takes, Sigyn intends to go back to Asgard. Decades, centuries, thousands upon thousands of years--it matters not. She will not leave him there in a dungeon while their sons grow up, hidden away like something shameful.  
     
    “We will be there for each other, my loves,” Sigyn sighs, feeling the faintest beginnings of their magic reacting to hers. It was cold, like Loki’s, and Sigyn smiles at the feeling of it. “It does not matter what has changed and what hasn’t. Loki will know you one day, my dearest Vali and Narvi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of our tale. Possibly. ;)
> 
> A few scattered notes: This is a highly updated version of the very first Logyn story I wrote, way back in 2011 a month after the first Thor movie released. It's also substantially different. Loki and Sigyn were on Earth for most of the duration of that Discrete, and their story took a far different path: It was one of redemption and finding second chances, much like this one, except Loki wasn't as far gone mentally as he is here, nor was he entertaining ideas of just casually burning the entire Nine down. Sigyn was still a healer, though, and they both healed each other on their journey. 
> 
> It was always my intention to go back to that story and revise it and post it. It was my baby, and it still holds a special place in my heart. It always will, except now it has some company: This Discrete, which is its much meaner, darker, less hopeful sibling.
> 
> Still, even when it got really unpleasant, I hope people enjoyed reading it and watching as Loki and Sigyn led themselves down a very self-destructive, codependent, unhealthy path. 
> 
> The setting of Discrete is, in part, inspired by the Ordeal in the Cave both Loki and Sigyn go through in the original myth. It's a very loose retelling, but it's there: Loki is locked away for who knows how long, Sigyn follows him into his imprisonment and does her best to help him as much as she can. They escape, which heralds the end of Asgard itself. Now, whether their escape (such as it is) is a promise of their future destruction of Asgard in this fic, well, I'll leave that up to the reader to decide.
> 
> Sigyn's appearance in this was based off of Oona Chaplin, who some of you may recognize from Game of Thrones. It was highly amusing to watch her play a nurse who marries into royalty on that show, since I'd chosen Oona as a face claim for my own Sigyn about a year before Oona got that role. Just thought I should note that, in case anyone wondered who I envisioned as I wrote this character.
> 
> The title was chosen because it fit the general theme; Loki and Sigyn both perceive themselves to be separate from the rest of Asgard, and find a missing part of themselves in each other. A rather loose interpretation of the meaning of the word, but hey.
> 
> It's been a joy to work on this, even when Loki's mind was a very troubling place to be, and I hope people were overjoyed to read it. I hope you'll continue to enjoy my other Logyn offerings. Now, let's see if I can finish Daughter of the Rain and Snow next, eh?


End file.
